The Confidants' Club
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: After Gilbert Beilschmidt kills himself, eight of his friends discover that they're in his suicide note. They form the Confidants' Club, determined to keep their wrongdoings secret. But as lies tangle up and drag various people into the mix, rumors fly, tensions build, and soon, everyone is a suspect... Multiple slight pairings. Completed.
1. Gilbert's Letter

_A/N: This was just an idea I had, and I decided to put it on paper—or, well, screen...? Anyway, please review/follow/fave and let me know what you think!_

* * *

**December 1st**

The house was absolutely quiet, the only noise coming from a large, wooden grandfather clock perched in the corner of the hallway. Matthew shivered, feeling a sense of foreboding.

Gilbert's house.

He was here again.

Actually, they all were—Matthew had stopped by Gilbert's house that bitter, cold afternoon since Herr and Frau Beilschmidt had insisted earlier that Matthew and some of Gilbert's other friends collect the things their son had left for them. The two parents were so grief-stricken that even though Matthew had hockey practice to attend and homework to do, he didn't protest.

"Well, let's get this shit over with."

"Mathias, hush. That's no way to speak," Elizaveta Héderváry scolded the Dane. "We need to be polite, and gather these things. And... pay respects."

"We already paid respects at the funeral, Elizaveta. I really don't want to see this stuff. I don't want to see his room again, okay?" Mathias' voice was borderline hysterical, a tone that didn't suit the sturdy Scandinavian.

Matthew looked back at the rest of the group. Everyone looked uncomfortable; the unusual gathering consisted of Mathias Køhler, Elizaveta Héderváry, Ivan Braginsky, Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland, and Matthew, of course. But with eight people, how much stuff could there even be for everyone?

"Stop standing around," Arthur complained. "We don't have all day." He shoved Matthew out of the way and began walking up the carpeted stairs, heading for Gilbert's room.

Arthur was still furious. How could Gilbert-freaking-Beilschmidt, of all the people in the world, have killed himself? Gilbert seemed so happy, so carefree, so utterly above the influence of everyone. The Brit felt as if he were moving through life like swimming through a nightmare—slowly and in constant suspense. He stopped at Gilbert's door.

"Here," Antonio said quietly, opening the door to Gilbert's room. It was normal—perfectly clean, perfectly quiet, perfectly _empty. _A box of things sat on the bed, still taped closed, labeled _For my friends _in Gilbert's messy scrawl.

"So, who wants to open it?" Matthew ventured, running a hand through his hair nervously.

Mathias sighed. "Fine, fine, I will." He grabbed the cardboard box and sliced through the duct tape with a pocket knife that had been sitting on Gilbert's desk. "Huh?"

"What is it?" Ivan asked, moving to see, and the rest of the group crowded around the box.

"Oh, shit, man," Alfred whispered.

And then it was a free-for-all. Everyone was snatching for the one object that was in the box—a letter—shouting, "Hand it to me," or "What does it say?", until finally Ivan, who was the tallest person there, held it above everyone, growling, "Stop. Stop!"

After a moment, there was silence again. Ivan cleared his throat. "Excuse me! I will just read this aloud to everyone," he said, fixing his icy violet eyes on the other seven people, daring them to object. When no one did, he drew in a deep breath and began.

"'_Before I killed myself, I told my parents to invite eight people over to the house. I trust they brought the right people over, because they were not idiots. Now, don't worry—you all are the first people to see this letter. Do you understand? You are the first people to see this letter.'" _

"That's touching," Elizaveta said. "He trusts us before anyone else!"

_"'But you are not the first people to hear these secrets. Let me tell you, plain and clear—if you are one of the eight people here, it's because of you that I killed myself. Do you hear that? It's your fault. It's because of—'" _Ivan broke off for a second.

_"'Because of you.'" _

Stunned silence.

"Wh-what?" Francis half-laughed, half-whispered. "That can't be right—we were all friends with Gil!"

Antonio looked like he was about to vomit up tomatoes and churros, and Ivan, face pale, continued shakily.

_"'You are all probably shocked! Wondering what you did to me, right? I'll explain. Think back. Way back in your memory to that one secret you have that would absolutely ruin you if anyone found out. The very terrible one that would destroy your awesome image—the one you shared with me. Only you and I know it, right? False. Since there are eight of you, there are eight secrets, obviously. So I found eight other people who attend our school and each told them one secret—one of yours. You get what I'm saying? For example, I told Elizaveta's secret to one person, and Francis' secret to one different person, and so on... And these other eight people will not hesitate to get your secret out.'" _

Elizaveta looked like she was having a stroke. "What? What the hell? What do we do? Why would he tell other people our secrets?!"

_"'Anyway, here's the fun part—if you can figure out the person who knows your secret and you confront them about it, they won't tell anyone. So you'll each need to talk to a different person. But if you can't figure it out by December 25th—Christmas—well, everyone will know. Now, have a long and happy life. The life I never got to live. Sincerely, Gilbert Beilschmidt."' _

The mood of the room was tense, a storm getting ready to break.

"A-at least only one other person knows your secret," Antonio offered.

Mathias shook his head. "No! No one can know that secret. No one can know any of this. Shit. I never should have told Gilbert."

"What's the point of this?" wailed Elizaveta. "Is he trying to get us to prove we can figure it out or something?" Tears were streaming down her face, though no one dared laugh; she wasn't the only one crying. There was a sharp knock on the door, and Ivan shoved the paper into his pocket.

Ludwig, Gilbert's younger brother, opened the door. "Um, would you all care for snacks?"

"No," Ivan said. "No snacks. Please. Please, just give us a moment."

Ludwig nodded, his lips pressed together tightly, and turned on his heel, closing the door gently behind him.

"I suppose we each need to find our secret-keeper," Arthur said. "And we need to find them fast. We have to pinpoint them by the twenty-fifth, and today is the first. We have nearly a month, and Gilbert didn't exactly leave us a lot to go on."

"What secret was Gilbert talking about, with you guys?" Matthew questioned nervously.

Alfred laughed, short and sharp. "Dude. I'm absolutely withholding that information."

"Well, unless you can find your damn secret-keeper, you won't be 'withholding' much information," Mathias snapped.

"Wait," Ivan said. He had taken the crumpled letter out of his pocket and was examining it. "Oh, Gilbert left a post-script."

"Is it a hint?" Elizaveta asked.

"No... actually, he says that the secret-keepers are not operating as a group. Therefore, if you don't find your secret-keeper, your secret and yours alone will be spilled."

"What?" Alfred barked. "What does that mean?"

Arthur nodded. "I get it. For example, if Alfred is stupid enough that he cannot find his secret-keeper, but I manage to find mine, Alfred's secret will be shared, and mine will not."

"Whatever," Mathias snapped. "You all find your own secret-keepers. I'm working alone here." The blond stood up and stormed out of Gilbert's room, and thirty seconds later, the other seven students heard the front door close.

"Wow, he's friendly today," Elizaveta commented, but her tone of voice was dull, and everyone in the room was sharing that same feeling as the weight of the situation settled upon them: They had better find their secret-keeper, and fast.


	2. The Confidants' Club

_A/N: I see a couple people have taken note of this story, so thank you very much. As an added note, this story takes place in the United States (because I'm feeling too lazy to research other nations at the moment), so keep that in mind when reading._

* * *

**December 2nd **

_2:02 PM - Unknown: Meet at the Starbucks next to the school, 3:30? _

Mathias allowed a sigh to pass his lips. He didn't recognize the number that was texting him, but he had no doubt it was one of the others he had been with yesterday—actually, he wasn't especially close with any of them. He and Alfred got along well, and he had partied once with Arthur Kirkland, but that was about it.

_2:04 PM - Mathias Køhler: Who is this?_

_2:04 PM - Unknown: Ha-ha. I guess you'll find out if you show up!_

_2:05 PM - Mathias Køhler: FINE. I'll be there._

_2:06 PM - Mathias Køhler: But this better not be—_

"Mr. Køhler. Is that your _cell phone? _In _class? _I'm afraid you'll have to hand it over. Get it after school is dismissed, all right?" The teacher's sharp voice jolted Mathias out of his little world.

"Ugh," Mathias grunted as the entire class snickered. That teacher had totally caught him texting under the desk. He looked at his classmates, wondering which one of them held his secret. And on top of it all—as if his day could get any worse—there went his phone.

* * *

"Do you know who's coming?" Elizaveta asked.

"_Non_. I was so lost in your eyes, I couldn't keep track..." Francis trailed off seductively, and he and Elizaveta both laughed. The Hungarian used to be creeped out by Francis, but he wasn't nearly as bad as everyone made him out to be.

The door of the Starbucks opened, and Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland walked in, snow coating their jackets and light hair. The flakes had started falling just before school got out; barely any was sticking to the ground, but soon there would be a few inches.

"I am so glad you two could make it! I'm assuming you haven't—"

"Shut it," Arthur snapped warily. "We are guessing you want to talk about the secret-keepers, so let's hear it, then."

"No, no, we have to wait for the others," Elizaveta said. "Why don't you get something to drink and sit down?"

"What others?" Arthur growled, then his eyes widened. "Oh, did you invite... _everyone?"_

"All eight of us," Francis said.

Arthur frowned, reluctantly ordered a latte, and sat down with Elizaveta and Francis. Alfred got a brownie and scarfed it down while the others discussed the best course of action.

Antonio and Mathias arrived, but not together. Elizaveta remembered sending Mathias the texts earlier in the day, and he didn't seem surprised to see everyone gathered at a table in the near-empty Starbucks.

Mathias purchased three coffees without blinking an eye and drank them all at once. Apparently he had a high tolerance of caffeine, because he leaned back and said, "This stuff sucks. So, when do we get started?"

Once Matthew and Ivan arrived, Francis cleared his throat. "We have to work at this methodically, or—"

"Wait," Mathias interrupted, "I never said I wanted to work with you all!"

"Fine," Ivan said. "Fine. Then leave. But do not come to us when you can't find your secret-keeper. We do not give a damn if your life is ruined, yes?"

Mathias seemed to contemplate this, frowned, and said, "Okay. Okay, I'll stay."

"We have twenty-three days," Matthew said. "What should we do?"

"Well, we know the secret-keepers all attend our school... but we don't know which grade they all are in. Or they could be in different ones, you know," Arthur pointed out.

"Is everyone in alliance?" Elizaveta asked. "We won't give up until we all find our secret-keepers."

"I see no issue," Ivan said. "I will help—if you all help me. Do not abandon me."

"We should give it a nice name. Something that isn't dull, like the rest of you," Francis suggested, earning several indignant exclamations from the table.

"The Confidants' Club?" suggested Matthew timidly. The arguing at the table was halted for a moment, and a unanimous sound of agreement rose from the assembled teens.

"Okay."

"_Si_."

"_Oui._"

"_Da_."

And the like.

"So that's settled," Elizaveta said, standing up to clap her hands. "How about we meet here again on Thursday? It'll be the fourth then; we should still have plenty of time." No objections met that statement, and everyone agreed it was time to go. But they all felt the knot loosen in their stomach, because though this would likely end in a terrible mess, at least they were not alone.

Ivan knew what his personal secret was. Of course he did—he wasn't stupid, nor did he feel particularly excited about the ordeal Gilbert's death was about to put him through. He knew it was Gilbert's choice to end his own life. But, still... Ivan came home to a dark house. He did every day. His father an alcoholic; his mother at work, terrified for herself, for her child. It was all wrong. That wasn't _his fault. _Neither was Gilbert's death. Well, not entirely. But if anyone deserved to be upset, wasn't it Ivan, because he had gone through so much and received so little, and he was the one who was still living, still dragging through every day?

Meanwhile, long after Starbucks, Francis, Alfred, Matthew, and Arthur were still hanging out. They already had suspects for who secret-keepers might be. They were not trusting people, not regarding this matter.

Elizaveta could not sleep. She swore she was going crazy. She sang herself Hungarian lullabies, chatted with her friend, Roderich, and listened to soothing music, but her nerves were shot. She couldn't stop picturing what would happen should her secret be announced—she would get expelled, no doubt, and perhaps arrested. What she had done would seem extremely unexpected from a girl like her, and it was information she cradled close to her heart. No one knew. Gilbert had, and look where that got her. She finally took some painkillers and drifted into a nightmarish sleep.

**December 4th **

"Here's the list, and it's quite a long one."

"What list?" Alfred spoke over the din of the Starbucks, which had become a sort of unwritten meeting space for the Confidants' Club. Several people had come to the meeting prepared with accusations of believed secret-keepers, though no one had spoken to anyone yet.

Francis held up a sheet of printer paper. "It's a list of everyone who attended Gilbert's funeral. I highlighted all of the students attending our school, ninth through twelfth grades. So take a look at it."

Antonio visibly cringed. "Uh, uh, are you sure—"

"Antonio," Francis snapped at his friend, "we have to do this. Now, look at the list."

Quite truthfully, Elizaveta didn't remember seeing many of these people at the funeral, though that was probably due to the fact that she had been so miserable. She took a good look at the list—and she had a clue of who the culprits could be.


	3. Rain, Rain, Go Away

_A/N: Thank you for all of your input! I'm on a roll, updating so many stories today! Also, pay attention to the dates (in bold), or things might be a little confusing. The story began on December 1st, Monday. The funeral was a few weeks before, on November 15th. _

* * *

**November 15th **

"I'm very, very sorry, Elizaveta. Truly, I didn't think—"

"No, it's okay, Frau Beilschmidt," Elizaveta replied, though in reality, there was no way this was okay. Gilbert was dead, and everyone was attending his funeral in the Beilschmidts' church. Elizaveta remembered that Gilbert always liked going to church because he believed in God, but he never liked wearing a tie.

Frau Beilschmidt rested her hand on Elizaveta's shoulder—a quick gesture—and said, "Dear, we're—you may say goodbye if you wish."

"All right. Thank you, Frau Beilschmidt." Elizaveta walked over to the casket, holding back tears. But she was wearing heels that her mother had forced her to wear, and she tripped, landing just in front of Gilbert's body. His eyes were closed; his hair combed in a way he would have hated. Elizaveta licked her thumb and fixed his hair, just the way he'd want it to be. She finally cried.

Meanwhile, Antonio and Francis were chatting with Gilbert's parents.

"Do you two have any clue why he would do this? I know you were his best friends," Herr Beilschmidt said.

"I don't know," Francis replied. "Gilbert didn't seem unhappy—or, at least, he never mentioned anything like this to us."

In the back of the church, Alfred was doing something he rarely ever did—praying. It was appropriate for the location, and Alfred was an internal wreck. Sure, he and Gilbert had arguments sometimes, but maybe it was because their personalities were just too similar. Alfred had really cared for his little 'Prussian' friend.

At any rate, he was praying. _Dear God. Gilbert loves you, a lot, so please take care of him and keep him safe forever. _

Little had he known that he should have prayed for his own safety, too.

**December 4th **

Dubiously, Arthur read over the highlighted names on the list. "But aren't there other people at our school who didn't attend the funeral?"

Francis nodded. "Oh, most definitely. This is just an idea, however, of a way we might be able to get started."

Mathias leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Well, I say that Gilbert probably told people we're close to—don't you think?"

"No," Matthew said. "I don't truly believe that Gilbert would do something like this. Yes, of course we all made mistakes, but I don't think we were the ones who ruined his life. Do you all? Is this one secret really so important? You have to, um, look at the big picture. I'm sorry if I offend any of you, but our friend is dead, and he's never coming back. Ever. Isn't that just a little more important than any secret you may have?"

Silence, until Francis finally said, "He has a point."

"Of course he does," snapped Arthur. "But Matthew, you're acting as if this is somehow our fault. I don't know how on earth my decisions influenced Gilbert to kill himself. Before you accuse others, look to yourself first."

Matthew's jaw dropped. "I never said—"

"Arguing accomplishes nothing," Elizaveta said. "Gilbert is dead. We have to move on." She meant to sound businesslike, but on the last word, her voice cracked, and she had to fight tears. She hated that Matthew was right—she hated that Gilbert was dead. Gilbert was young. She was reminded of a time when they were kids—they had been friends for a long time, mind you—around the age of six or seven, probably, and though his parents demanded them not to, they ran out into his driveway in the middle of a thunderstorm. He ran through the downpour, throwing his head back into the rain, and he had said, "Eliza, look, I'm indestructible."

She wished he really were indestructible. She wished this wasn't her fault somehow.

"You're spacing out," Antonio said to her, but not in a mean way. In a sympathetic way. Elizaveta nodded. She couldn't afford to lose it in the middle of a Starbucks.

"We can't just start accusing people out of the blue, though," Francis said. "We shouldn't just go down the line—we need to make accurate guesses, no?"

Elizaveta nodded. "Of course. Because imagine how much of a story this would be to everyone. Of course everyone knows Gilbert killed himself, but we're supposed to be his friends, right?"

"I thought we were," Matthew muttered.

"We are," corrected Antonio.

"If we were his friends, he would not be accusing us of causing his death," retorted Ivan. "Anyway, I am sure that if your secret is anything like mine, you did have something to do with his death. I am not denying that, though I can say that Gilbert's death has crushed me."

"What sort of thing did you do?" Francis exclaimed, his eyes widening.

"Yes, tell us," Arthur sneered.

Ivan curled his upper lip, revealing his teeth in a feral-like snarl. "I will tell you if you tell me what you did, Arthur."

"Now, hold on," Mathias exclaimed. Though he wasn't overjoyed with his current predicament, he didn't want to see a fight break out in the middle of a coffee shop. "Why don't we all just be honest with each other and share our secrets? We're probably all going to find them out anyway, and—"

"Fine, then, you start," Elizaveta said calmly, albeit a little coldly. Mathias could tell she was still trying to calm down.

"Hey, now, I don't want to be the only one saying anything!" Mathias protested. So the meeting of the Confidants' Club adjourned without much solution; they all agreed to meet on Saturday—the sixth—with a list of people they believed could be their secret-keepers.

**December 5th **

"Talk about what?" Matthew asked, tossing his sports bag over his shoulder and grabbing his hockey stick.

"Dear, we know you're awfully upset after Gilbert's death," Matthew's mother began, but Matthew uncharacteristically cut her off. "No, Mom, I'm not upset. It's been two weeks—no, more than that. I'm fine. I have to get to practice. I missed drills on Monday."

"Matthew, listen to us," Mr. Williams said. "We're concerned for you. You've been behaving strangely this week."

Matthew ignored the urge to laugh bitterly. _Of course I'm upset. It's bad enough that Gilbert is dead; you don't even know about the note he left for us. _

Instead, Matthew said, "Okay, fine. But can we talk about this after practice?"

"All right, sure," Mrs. Williams replied. Then, out of nowhere: "Honey, how are you doing in the United States?"

Matthew paused, half in surprise, his hand tightening around his hockey stick. His mother asked him this a lot the first year they moved to the US, back in eighth grade, but he hadn't heard the question in a while. "What? Mom, we've been here for four years. I'm doing okay. Really. I miss Canada, but... I guess this is home now, right?"

His mother smiled. "Yes, it is. Now, I need to get started on dinner. Have fun at practice, Mattie." She left the room, humming softly to herself.

Matthew grabbed his car keys off the counter. His car was an ancient, beat-up, already-used hunk of metal, but he adored it. It was reliable, and it was the first major thing he had bought for himself. "Dad, I really have to get going."

"I'm proud of you, Matthew," Mr. Williams said. "Have fun at practice." He too left the room, and Matthew frowned.

_Would you be so proud of me if you knew? Would you be so proud of me if you knew Gilbert's death... _

Shaking his head, Matthew walked outside to his car. He squinted through the rain, unsure if the drops he felt on his cheeks were those of rain or tears.


	4. Hacking 101

_A/N: August 25th is Belarus' National Day, so I'm just saying that's Natalia's birthday, okay?_

* * *

**December 6th **

Ivan's guesses were fueled with logic, like many things he did. He first suspected Gilbert had told Natalia Arlovskaya, Ivan's not-so-secret (obnoxious) admirer, but then he concluded that, had Gilbert told Natalia, Natalia would probably refuse to share his secret on Christmas. She wouldn't want to see her love's life in ruins, would she?

His next guess was Katyusha Braginskaya, the Ukrainian who was a grade above him in school. But Katyusha would be leaving for college in a semester, and she probably had better things to do than deal with petty eleventh-grade underclassmen drama. Ivan had to remind himself that it wasn't just petty drama—someone was dead.

No one was really that excited to go back to Starbucks, so Antonio offered up his house as the Saturday meeting spot. Ivan hoped he had the address right and pulled into the driveway; he had borrowed his mother's car, as Antonio lived too far to walk.

Antonio was waiting in the kitchen. He greeted people as they came in, offered them something to eat and drink, made sure everyone was comfortable. It was somewhat awkward—he wasn't very close with these people, except Francis—but he was a great host.

"Let's get started," Elizaveta said, taking a sip of water. "Um. Who wants to go first?"

"I had a theory," Francis offered. "Gilbert would tell people who have something against us. Like someone you got in a fight with, and so on." He paused. "Though it could not have been too serious a fight, because if we find our secret-keeper, they have to keep our secret a _secret_. That's what Gilbert said, after all."

"That makes sense," Mathias replied. "My guess is that my secret-keeper is Lukas Bondevik or Berwald Oxenstierna."

"I think mine is Natalia Arlovskaya," Arthur finally said, and everyone turned to look at him.

Ivan blinked in surprise. "Natalia? Why?"

Arthur laughed sheepishly. "I... she hates me."

"She hates everyone," Alfred said. "Minus Ivan."

"That's true," Arthur said, "But, you see, right before Gilbert's funeral... she asked me to be her boyfriend."

There was stunned silence in the room, and Elizaveta finally said, "Are you joking? She asked you that? _You?" _

"Oh, great, what's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grunted.

Elizaveta blushed. "I mean, I thought she was only interested in Ivan. But if what you're saying is true, then there's probably a chance she's your secret-keeper."

Alfred laughed. "You all go about this the wrong way. Why don't we just read her emails and see if she talks about Arthur's secret at all?"

"You can't just read someone's emails," snorted Arthur. "We don't know how to read them."

"You mean you can't read, Iggy?" Alfred asked, much too innocently.

"No, you bloody git! I mean, we don't know how to get into her damn email account, obviously."

"Ha! You freaking losers! Antonio, where's your computer?" Alfred laughed.

Antonio and Francis exchanged confused looks, until the former stood up and said, "I'll go get my laptop, I guess."

Alfred brought up Gmail and typed in Natalia's email (with the help of Ivan) and squinted at the screen for a second.

"This is idiotic. You're not going to be able to read anything without a password!" Arthur snapped. "Or do you intend to just stare at the screen all day?"

"Shut up," Alfred said. "Okay. Hmm. Ivan..." He typed that into the password bar. "She's probably got her birthday in there, too. When's her birthday? It's August twenty-fifth? Okay. Knowing her, she put one other detail in there, too. Belarus? No, no..." Alfred was muttering to himself while the others stared on in fascination. "Give me a few minutes, okay?"

Matthew's face paled while Alfred worked on Natalia's password. "If Gilbert emailed Natalia about Arthur's secret, you know what that means?"

"That she's his secret-keeper?" snorted Mathias from across the table.

"No. Well, yes, but also, it means that Natalia knew Gilbert was going to kill himself and didn't do anything about it. And what does that say about her, really?" The Canadian bit his lip nervously, wondering if the group would agree.

"I mean, we already knew she was a psycho bitch," Mathias murmured. "But that's true. Very true."

"I got in!" Alfred laughed. "Finally. Password was 'Ivan25knife'..."

"Bloody hell," Arthur whispered. "That was... amazing, actually."

"How the heck did you do that?" Mathias exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Fascinating. Really."

"I'll search her Outbox; see if she ever emailed Gilbert," Alfred said, scrolling down, typing something into a Search Bar. "Wow, Ivan, she sure emails you a lot."

Ivan chuckled. "And I never respond."

"How rude. Just kidding. Oh, hey, I found something—Beilschmidt—wait, that's from Ludwig." Alfred was scrolling furiously, tapping the keys with such vigor that the others in the room could practically hear the wheels turning in his (smarter than they thought) brain. "I found an email from Gilbert!" Alfred called triumphantly. Antonio, who was sitting to the right of the American, raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's titled 'Secrets'. Okay, I'll open the original email from Gilbert." Alfred paused, scanning over the email, and—

"What?" demanded Arthur.

Alfred slammed the laptop shut, looking nauseous. "N-nothing. It's nothing. I'm going home. I'll see you guys later, okay? Bye."

The room was silent. "What just happened?" Francis laughed nervously once everyone heard the front door crashing shut. Antonio opened his laptop, typed in his password, and looked over the email. His green eyes widened. "Oh my. Turns out Natalia is a secret-keeper, but not of Arthur's secret... of Alfred's."

Arthur tilted his head to one side, his eyebrows furrowed. "What?" he asked again.

"What is the secret?" Matthew asked quietly, adjusting his glasses.

"Well," Antonio said. "It seems our friend Alfred is gay."

* * *

Alfred was fuming. He got into his car as fast as humanly possible and sped away, tears blurring his vision. Tears of rage, to be precise. How _dare _Gilbert threaten to even tell anyone that secret? Alfred knew he was being shallow, but all he could think was: _If anyone finds out, my reputation is shot. Fuck you, Gilbert! I never should have told you._

Oh, sure, his close friends would accept him, he knew, and he was grateful for that. And he knew that nowadays, being gay was becoming less and less uncommon, and part of society wouldn't mind. But his parents... his parents were what you would call 'slightly homophobic.' Slightly times ten.

Alfred had trusted Gilbert. What a mistake. Ugh. The only thought that calmed him was the knowledge that all he had to do was confront Natalia about this... incident, and his secret would go with her to the grave. Hopefully. But the other members of The Confidants' Club—they probably all knew now, and they weren't under any vows of silence. Alfred only wished they would treat him courteously and keep their mouths shut. Because if they didn't, well. Things were going to get ugly—with him, with them, with his parents.

But, dear readers, I suppose such is life.


	5. Navigating Minefields

_A/N: Since you're reading, I suppose you survived Friday the 13th on a full moon, huh? Okay, so, I am highly unversed in law, punishment, etc., especially regarding suicide, so if I have any incorrect details about how the post-suicide process is carried out, I apologize. Please read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

**December 6th **

"Well, it seems our friend Alfred is gay."

Antonio's statement was met with several different reactions, ranging from childish to appropriate to shocking. Francis simply snickered—which earned him a smack upside the head from Arthur—and Elizaveta had to hide a smile. She wondered what glorious scenes would happen with Alfred around, and reminded herself that now was no time to start fangirling. Especially with all the emotions on the line. Ivan's face was twisted with revulsion. "Disgusting."

"Now, that's no way to speak," Antonio said quietly. "I know it's true that the first of our secrets have been revealed, but all Alfred must do is speak with Natalia, and hopefully things will be cleared up. We will certainly not talk about this, _si_?"

"Okay," grumbled Mathias. "Could I see the computer?"

"Sure." Antonio pushed the laptop across the table.

"Read it," Ivan ordered.

"Fine. 'Natalia Arlovskaya,'" Mathias began.

_Natalia Arlovskaya, as you obviously know, this is the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt. I'm sure you weren't expecting that. Anyway, I have emailed you to discuss important matters. Please reply when you get this. It is of utmost urgency, and I need a response preferably sooner rather than later. Danke. _

Mathias paused. "Okay, let me find his second response. Here it is."

_Natalia, thank you for your swift reply. I would like to talk about Alfred Jones. It is to my knowledge that you are a trustworthy person, and I need you to do me a favor, which you previously agreed to. Alfred Jones is gay. No one knows this except me and anyone else he may have told, though I suspect he doesn't want very many people to know. Since you have been entrusted with this information, I need you to KEEP IT A SECRET. If Alfred does not confront you about this discussion by Christmas, you may share it with whomever you please. But if he does ask about it before Christmas, it shall remain a secret forever, and you must give him the letter I lent you. I trust you. -Gilbert Beilschmidt _

"She didn't know," Mathias said, almost sounding giddy. "She didn't know! Oh, this is a relief."

"Didn't know what?" snapped Francis. "Because it seems to me she knows quite a bit. Is that the email in its entirety?"

"_Ja,"_ Mathias replied. "It is. I mean, he didn't say anything about killing himself in the letter. He just told Natalia what he wanted done; what he needed from her. She probably didn't know he was going to do it! It's very promising."

"Because this is such a promising situation," Arthur replied snarkily. "Mathias, you—"

"Shut up, Arthur. Could you read that last sentence again?" Elizaveta asked.

"'I trust you'?"

"No, before that."

"What—oh! Gilbert said there was supposed to be a letter for Alfred, if he could figure out she was the secret-keeper," Mathias said. "He must have given it to Natalia."

"Do you think he wrote all of us letters, too?" Matthew asked.

"Well," Mathias sighed. "I guess there's only one way to find out. My house tomorrow?"

* * *

Gathering up his courage, Alfred knocked on the door. A woman answered, probably in her early forties, with light blonde hair and an apron tied around her waist. She smiled pleasantly. "Hello, dear. Who are you?" She had an accent, much like Natalia's, but a lot thicker than her daughter's.

"I'm Alfred Jones. I'm a... classmate of Natalia's. Is she home? I was wondering if I could have a word with her." Alfred knew it was vital to sound polite if he wanted to have any shot of waltzing into a near-stranger's house and chatting up their teenage daughter.

"She is. I'll tell her a friend is here. Why don't you have a seat in the kitchen? Would you like something to drink?"

"No thank you."

"Okay. If you need anything, just ask, sweetie. Natalia! Where are you?" Mrs. Arlovskaya disappeared down the hall, and Alfred sat at the kitchen table, tapping his foot on the tile floor nervously.

Natalia emerged a moment later, an eyebrow raised. "Alfred Jones. This is a surprise." But the way she said it sounded like she was saying, "_You finally found it out, huh?"_

"I think you know why I'm here."

"I do." Natalia sat down across from the American. "To which I say... nice job. Props to you, figuring this out. How did you manage?"

Alfred considered his words. Natalia seemed calm and somewhat pleasant, but he felt like talking with her was comparable to dancing in a minefield. Who knew what would set her off? "Um, deductive reasoning." As if.

"Very well." Natalia licked her lips. "I know you think I'm crazy, but I'd like to reassure you, I did promise Gilbert that if you talked to me about this, I'd keep it a secret. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Okay?"

"Thank you," said Alfred. "Really."

"He left a letter for you." Natalia handed him an envelope with 'Alfred' marked on the side. "Did you know he was going to do it?" she asked suddenly. "Kill himself, I mean."

"Of course not," Alfred recoiled, taking the letter from her. "Did you?"

"No. I didn't see it coming. He sent me an email, and looking back, I suppose the tone was ominous, but I didn't think..." Natalia faltered. "I should have said something. I should have called him, or read into his words more. I should have stopped him."

"We all should have. No sense beating yourself up over it." Alfred sighed. "Well, thank you. Very much. I'm going to go now."

"Okay. Thanks for stopping by, I guess." Natalia grinned. "Tell Ivan I said hi."

**December 7th**

"Alfred, Francis is here to see you!" Mrs. Jones called to her son. "Come downstairs!"

_I wasn't expecting Francis. Oh God, what does he want? He'll probably want to 'play' or something... I know his kind... _Alfred trudged reluctantly down the stairs. Though it was silly, he was relieved he looked pretty un-hot at that moment. He was wearing jeans, mismatched socks, and an old 'Canada' sweatshirt of Matthew's. You know, the red ones that have the huge white maple leaf on the front. Matthew had gotten him the sweatshirt while vacationing in Quebec over the summer.

"Does everyone know?" Alfred asked once his parents left the room.

"_Oui_. They read the email."

Alfred buried his head in his hands. "Shit. How did they react?"

"_Mon ami_, why are you worried about this? How do you expect they all would react?"

"Um. I think they'd all be okay with it. Maybe Ivan wouldn't, because you know how he can be, but—"

"Exactly right," Francis said. "Ivan's opinion is only one opinion, and we all promised not to tell. Anyway, I came by to tell you the Confidants' Club is meeting at Mathias' house. You did not hear the news, I suppose, so you should come with me now."

"Um, no. Dude, I'd rather just spend my last day of the weekend at home playing video games and eating. No more secrets."

Francis patted his friend's shoulder. "You have to help us. All the silly little idiots who still can't figure out their secret-keepers. And for the record, everyone was impressed when you hacked into Natalia's email. It was amazing. We're still your friends, Alfred. Ivan may take some convincing, but he'll come around. You don't need to be worried."

Alfred grinned. Though he wouldn't admit it, that old French-speaking, wine-guzzling, British-hating bastard always knew just what to say.


	6. Dances and Coffee

_A/N: Hello again! I have been working on this story quite a bit, actually. Please review and enjoy, and I hope to see you next chapter!_

* * *

**December 7th**

"So, we're all here," Arthur said. "Thanks for offering up your house, Mathias. Oh, it's nice to see you, Alfred."

Alfred flinched, thinking his friend was mocking him, but Arthur's emerald eyes were surprisingly warm and supportive. _Thank goodness for great friends_, Alfred thought. _My parents, though... I'll worry about that later._

"Oh! Wait," Alfred said. "I went over to Natalia's house yesterday, to ask about the secret, and she gave me a letter."

"What does it say?" Antonio prompted.

"I'll open it now." Alfred produced the envelope from his pocket and tore it open, unfolding the sheet of paper. "Oh, yeah, Gil definitely wrote this. _'So, Alfred, you figured it out_,'" began Alfred.

_"'You're probably wondering how you contributed to my death. I know you're thinking that your love life shouldn't have concerned mine at all—unless I loved you as more than a friend, which I did not. However, in order to put these pieces together, you'll need to find the other people's secrets. Now, of course I don't know what you're doing, but I hope you're working with the others. It will make this so much easier. If you are, here's a hint: I did NOT send information to any of the other secret-keepers via email. That should help you a lot—or maybe not. Hell, I how would I know?'"_

Alfred sighed.

_"'Anyway, Alfred, you were a good friend. I know you need closure, and I'd be an even more terrible person than I already am if I didn't say this: I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean much; it's practically useless at this point, but it's an apology, after all. I'm not regretful of my choices—both suicide and the ordeal I'm putting you through with this whole secret business—but I'm sorry. Find the other notes if you want to know why this happened to you, and remember: You and I, Alfred, we're just alike. Most sincerely, Gilbert Beilschmidt.'"_

Ivan frowned. "So, it's like a puzzle. The notes he left behind with our secret-keepers have answers. Perhaps once we find them, we'll have a proper note. Unfortunately, he said he didn't email the other secret-keepers, so we'll have to figure those out by ourselves. And he said you two are just alike, huh. Any other topics of discussion?"

"Don't forget, the Winter Soirée is this Friday!" Elizaveta exclaimed, decidedly off-track of the discussion. The Winter Soirée was tradition at their school, occurring on the second to last Friday of the First Semester, a week before Holiday Break. Every grade could attend except for ninth grade, so it would be Elizaveta and the others' second time going, as everyone in the Confidants' Club was in the eleventh grade. Despite the events at hand, Elizaveta was excited. "Who's going to the Soirée? What are you guys wearing?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Your feminine side is showing," Mathias remarked.

"But we could look for secret-keepers there!" Elizaveta protested.

"No one cares about the stupid Soirée," snorted Alfred.

"It's not stupid! It's lots of fun, but I don't have a date. Oh, well. I'll just go with Mei and Michelle and we'll have fun. I can't believe we're eleventh graders already! Will you guys bring your cameras? Are we friendly enough that we could take a group photo or is that—"

"Enough!" Arthur barked. "Elizaveta, if I take you to the Soirée, will you shut up?"

"Oh? Well, of course!" Elizaveta smiled pleasantly. _Yes! I have a date! So he's not exactly ideal, but... _

Francis snickered. "Wow, Arthur. You must be kinder to women! Your manner of speech must be eloquent, graceful—" This statement was met with the sound of Arthur's paperback novel colliding with the Frenchman's face.

"Arthur! Francis! Shut up for a moment," Mathias said, clearing his throat. "As I've said before, I'm pretty sure my secret-keeper is Lukas Bondevik. I know he works at the Café Italia in the mall, so I plan to confront him during one of his shifts. Anyone care to join me?"

Arthur shrugged, having retrieved his book from the floor, and said, "Sure. I will. How about we go there tomorrow after school?"

Mathias nodded. "Sounds good. I know he works Mondays. Well, guys, we'll let you know how it goes!"

* * *

"Hey, Ivan," Alfred began, calling to his friend. The meeting had dismissed. Arthur and Mathias were going to the Café Italia on Monday, and everyone else was going to start dropping hints towards people they suspected might be their secret-keepers. Things were going smoothly. Well...

Ivan paused a few feet away from his mother's car and turned slowly. "Yes, what is it?" The Russian's voice was controlled but dangerously distant and frosty.

"Um, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Is that not what you are doing right now?"

"Well, it is, but—dude, why are you looking at me like that?" Ivan's violet eyes were unresponsive. Alfred shivered. The bitter-cold December day was nothing compared to the chills he got from Ivan's glare. Sure, Ivan had a reputation for intimidating people, but he never scared _Alfred. _

"I don't wish to speak to you from now on, Alfred. I trust that you understand why."

Alfred took a step closer to Ivan. "That is ridiculous. Man, you're being crazy. I'm still me, y'know? You don't have to treat me differently."

Ivan's face was unsympathetic. "Listen, Alfred. They may be fine with it, but that does not mean I have to be fine with it. My parents raised me with good morals. I don't approve of your personal choices. That is not my business; nor is it my place to tell you what you can and cannot do, but it does not mean I must interact with you from now on. Do you understand?"

Alfred's eyes flashed with hurt. "O-oh, yeah? Well, fine. I don't wanna talk to you, either!" He turned on his heel and stormed off, gripping his car keys so tightly that when he loosened his grip, the jagged metal had cut into his skin.

**December 8th**

The smell of coffee and pastries greeted Mathias and Arthur. Both of the boys inhaled deeply, relaxing. They happened to share a fondness for coffee, and who in their right mind would turn down desserts? Café Italia was a warm little coffeehouse at the mall, located between a candy shop and a bookstore. Feliciano Vargas, a classmate of Mathias and Arthur's, was standing at the counter, waiting for customers. The Vargas family ran the café, so Feliciano often helped out.

The café was empty. Beautiful origami snowflakes were attached to the walls, and a fake glittering Christmas tree stood in the back of the room. White lights and red ornaments adorned it. The scene was breathtaking.

"Arthur! Mathias! Good to finally get some business, _ve_. What would you two like?" Feliciano called, waving. His black apron was lopsided and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

Arthur sighed and reached for his wallet. "I guess I'll get a latte..."

Mathias snorted at his almost-friend. "Nothing for me. Is Lukas Bondevik here?"

Feliciano looked puzzled. "He is. Do you want to speak with him?"

"Yes, please, if it isn't too much trouble."

"Okay! I'll go get him. And I'll get your latte, Arthur. Just a minute!" Feliciano chorused, heading to the back of the café.

The bells hanging above the entrance door rattled, and Mathias turned slightly.

He was met with a slight surprise—Natalia Arlovskaya and Lovino Vargas had arrived at the café, both with the usual scowl plastered across their features. Mathias had to force himself to act normally. After all, Natalia probably had no clue whatsoever that Mathias had his own secret—she had only been the keeper of Alfred's—and Gilbert had said that the secret-keepers weren't operating as a group.

Arthur's face paled, and Mathias very distinctly saw him mouth the word _no. _

Natalia walked up to the counter. "Excuse me," she said with great impatience.

"What?" Arthur stammered. "I know I re-rejected you, b-but that doesn't m-mean you need to h-hunt me down—"

"I meant move out of the way so I can order some damn coffee," Natalia growled. "Is that a bit easier for you to understand? Where's the staff?"

Arthur sighed in relief. "Oh. Right. Sorry, Feliciano was here a second ago, but he's doing me a favor—"

"The fuck do you need with my _fratello_?" Lovino barked from behind Mathias. "My mother sent me here to get him to come home, so you better not be making trouble."

"We have to speak with Lukas Bondevik. He also works here," replied Mathias icily, coming to Arthur's rescue. "It's really not any of your concern." Though everyone there was in the same class at the same school, they weren't particularly close, and the situation was tense.

"Mathias."

Mathias jumped, surprised, and saw Lukas standing there. The Norwegian looked frustrated, but his voice was calm. "If you needed to talk with me about something, couldn't you have done so at school?"

"No! Well, I could have, but..." Mathias trailed off helplessly.

Natalia snorted. "Whatever. I'll just go to Starbucks. What a pain." The Belarusian exited the coffeehouse, muttering in her native language. Lovino sighed loudly. "Feli, Mamma wants you home soon. Came by to tell you that. Now, I guess I'm going to fucking Starbucks with Natalia. _Che palle_!" The older Vargas left as well, cursing to himself.

"Eh? Lukas, do you think you can handle the rest of the shift by yourself?" Feliciano asked.

Lukas grunted. "Yes, sure. I don't think today's going to be a very busy day."

"That's a shame, no? Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Feliciano said. He followed his brother out the exit, humming cheerfully.

Mathias exhaled in relief. Finally, it was just him, Lukas, and Arthur. "Can I talk to you now?"

Lukas scanned the deserted café. "Obviously no customers are coming to my rescue, so go ahead. I'll be cleaning, but I'm listening."

"Okay. Great." Mathias considered his words, then said, "We need to talk about Gilbert Beilschmidt."


	7. With Love, From Iceland

_A/N: Fudge, this chapter was difficult to write—I only hope it was worth it! Please review and enjoy! Also, could you tell me what your favorite heterosexual pairings are?_

* * *

**December 8th**

"We need to talk about Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Lukas paused, staring at the counter. "Yes, why?"

"Did he mention anything about... about a secret?" Mathias asked. "Before he died, I mean. Did he talk about something like that?"

"A secret?" Lukas questioned. "Yes, but not to me."

"Then to whom?" Arthur asked.

Lukas sighed. "My stepbrother, Emil—he's in the ninth grade at our school—for a little while after Gilbert killed himself, he kept talking about a secret, and kept mentioning Gilbert's name. I didn't understand. I wasn't paying him very much attention, either. Why? Was this something important?"

Arthur and Mathias exchanged hopeful looks. "It's nothing," Mathias said. "Thank you. Thank you very much! Okay, Arthur, you got your latte, let's go. See you tomorrow, Lukas!" The two teens scurried out of the coffeehouse, leaving a very confused Norwegian at the counter.

**December 9th **

_9:15 AM - Alfred Jones: Hey, you never told me how meeting up w/ Lukas went._

_9:16 AM - Arthur Kirkland: You shouldn't text during class, y'know._

_9:16 AM - Alfred Jones: ...it's PRE-CALCULUS. I'm not missing anything. Lucky you, you're in Spanish._

_9:17 AM - Arthur Kirkland: Yeah, SO lucky. Anyway, you know Lukas' younger brother, right?_

_9:18 AM - Alfred Jones: Eli? Edward?_

_9:18 AM - Arthur Kirkland: Emil. He's in the ninth grade. He's one of the secret-keepers._

_9:19 AM - Alfred Jones: Mathias'?_

_9:20 AM - Arthur Kirkland: No, we don't know whose secret Emil is keeping._

_9:21 AM - Arthur Kirkland: Hello?_

_9:22 AM - Alfred Jones: I'm here, I'm here. Just have to make sure the teach doesn't see my phone. Anyway, what're you gonna do about it?_

_9:23 AM - Arthur Kirkland: Mathias is going to talk to Emil today during lunch. A step in the right direction, at least._

* * *

"And then, I was just like, uh, no—Elizaveta, are you okay?"

Elizaveta blinked in surprise, setting her spoon down. She smiled at Michelle. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Go on."

"No way," Michelle said. "Something weird is going on with you. You're not even eating your lunch—spill!"

"Nothing weird," protested Elizaveta, taking a sip of her soup to get Michelle off her back.

"Uh-huh," Michelle replied suspiciously, turning to Mei. "What do you think?"

Mei giggled. "Oh, definitely. You're acting strangely, Eliza."

Elizaveta decided to try something. "Fine, you guys. Can I tell you... a secret?" She glanced at her friends' faces, trying to gauge their reactions, but both Michelle and Mei looked concerned and serious. Elizaveta sighed. "Never mind, guys. Just eat your lunch and quit worrying about me."

Meanwhile, across the lunchroom, a different group of friends were chatting: Raivis Galante, Lilli Zwingli, Im Yong-Soo, and Emil Steilsson. The four ninth graders were sitting at their usual corner table, having a spirited conversation about whether underwear was an appropriate gift to give someone for Christmas. Lilli said that no, it was not, but Yong-Soo was holding his own in the argument. "Well," the Korean finally huffed, "I would appreciate underwear for Christmas."

Emil rolled his eyes, stabbing his salad with a fork. "Oh, of course you would!"

"Hey. Emil. I need to talk to you."

Emil glanced up, surprised to see Mathias Køhler standing by his lunch table, arms crossed.

"Uh-oh," Yong Soo whispered to Raivis. "Upperclassman alert."

Despite Emil's cool exterior, he felt pretty nervous. He did not want to say the wrong thing to an upperclassman, especially one as well-known and popular as Mathias. "D-did I do something?"

"More like did Gilbert Beilschmidt do something," Mathias replied, and the Icelandic's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what?"

"You're a secret-keeper," Mathias said.

"Yes?" Emil replied, more of a question than a statement. "But... I... you aren't even friends with him!" The poor ninth grader looked absolutely lost. So did his friends.

"Eight of us," Mathias said quietly. "Eight of you. Now, whose secret have you been keeping for the dead man?"

Emil was so bewildered that he blurted out, "Ivan Braginsky."

Now his friends were definitely concerned. Raivis was trembling, probably at the mention of 'the I-word,' and Yong-Soo looked like he was on the verge of saying something terribly rude.

Mathias took a step back, seemingly disappointed. He bit his lower lip, nodding slowly. "Ivan. I see. Thank you, Emil. You're going to be talking to him soon, so prepare yourself. You know that once Ivan says something to you, you aren't allowed to say anything."

"Wait," Emil said, standing up as Mathias began to walk away. "How do you know all of this?"

Mathias chuckled. "Well, kid, my name's out in the void somewhere, too." With that, he walked out of the lunchroom, on the hunt for Ivan. The Dane passed Matthew, who was entering the cafeteria, and nodded a hello to him, but didn't stop to chat. Matthew nodded in return and scanned the room for a vacant seat. He settled for an empty spot at a table currently occupied by Alfred, Arthur, and Kiku Honda.

Matthew wanted to ask if Arthur had any information on Lukas, but he didn't dare with Kiku there. Instead, he said, "Hey, guys."

"Hello, Matthew," Kiku said politely. Arthur repeated the message, smiling, and Alfred grunted. Matthew had to do a double-take.

His friend looked like hell.

Arthur seemed to notice Matthew staring and mouthed, _Ivan. _

"Ah." Matthew sat down uncomfortably, slinging his bag over the back of his chair. "So..." A few moments of awkward silence.

Kiku stood up. "I apologize," he said. "I'm afraid I must leave early. Thank you for allowing me to sit with you."

"No problem. See you in art history," Arthur said, waving good-bye. Once Kiku was out of earshot, Arthur turned to Alfred. "You need to snap out of this. Is this your plan for the rest of your life? Hide the truth inside and grumble whenever you have to socialize?"

"Actually, my plans were more along the lines of fleeing to Alaska and becoming an Eskimo," Alfred mumbled dejectedly.

"Nonsense! You needn't—"

"Shut up," Alfred hissed. "Please, Arthur, just be _quiet." _

"Don't kill yourself over it," Matthew said.

Arthur and Alfred both snapped to attention. Alfred opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking indignant, and Arthur said, "Was that your idea of a bad joke?"

"N-no!" Matthew gasped. "Of course not! It's just... um... I know Gilbert..."

Alfred looked perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Matthew took a deep breath. "Gilbert was gay, too, you know. That's one of the reasons he killed himself. Do you understand? His religion doesn't allow it, and church and stuff was so important to Gilbert. He couldn't live with himself."

The color drained from Alfred's face and his breath hitched. "Fuck. I'm going to be sick..."

"What?!" Arthur blurted, setting down his tea. "What are you talking about? How do you know this?"

"That's my secret," Matthew said, so quietly that Arthur and Alfred were straining to hear him. "That's the thing he's holding over my head. The fact that he asked me out and I rejected him. That's how I know, okay? I'm sorry I didn't say yes. I'm sorry I'm straight. _I'm sorry I didn't save his life!"_

"'You and I, we're just alike,'" whispered Alfred, quoting Gilbert's letter. He seemed to be in a daze, his blue eyes staring vacantly into space. "I see now."


	8. The Cold War

_A/N: There will be some canon pairings in this story, but a lot of the pairings will be circumstantial to the story. Hey, maybe you'll discover a new OTP —or not. Also, I know I've been focusing a ton on Alfred and his relations with others (cough, Ivan), but after this chapter or the next one I'll move onto other people's stories more._

* * *

**December 9th **

Mathias glanced at his watch. Okay, he still had thirty minutes before class began, and the halls were mostly empty due to the fact that everyone was at lunch, but it was still going to take a while to find Ivan. He hadn't been in the cafeteria, and Mathias had no idea what his schedule was. Huh. Mathias knew that unless he searched the school methodically, it would take way more than thirty minutes to scour all three floors of the school and countless classrooms. Inspired, he pulled out his phone. Solution: Text Alfred.

_12:09 PM - Mathias Køhler: Alfred, do you have Ivan's number?_

_12:10 PM - Alfred Jones: Sure. I'll send it to you, then I'm deleting his contact. Thanks for reminding me. _

Mathias cringed. That wasn't really what he had meant to imply, and he felt pretty bad for Alfred. Mathias had chemistry with Alfred and Ivan, and the two friends sat on completely different sides of the room, occasionally glaring at each other. Tough. A second later, Ivan's number appeared on Mathias' screen. Mathias called Ivan, hoping he would answer.

"Hello?"

Mathias laughed in relief. "Hey, hey. It's Mathias. I've got some big news for you."

"Which would be?" Ivan questioned. "Is it about your trip to the Café Italia yesterday?"

Mathias nodded, then realized Ivan couldn't see him. "Yes, actually. Lukas isn't my secret-keeper. In fact, he isn't even one at all. But Emil Steilsson, Lukas' younger brother... well, he's yours."

Mathias heard Ivan sigh, though he wasn't sure if it was a breath of relief, fear, or regret. Maybe all three. "All right, I'll go talk to him. Is he in the cafeteria?"

"Yeah, but—" Mathias began, debating whether to say anything on Alfred's behalf, when the line clicked dead.

* * *

Alfred was staring at the clock on the cafeteria wall, ignoring the dull roar of classmates chattering around him, and watched the time tick forward to 12:15. Arthur and Matthew were making small talk across the table, throwing worried glances in his direction every so often. Alfred snorted. They honestly thought he couldn't see them.

Matthew, who was facing the door, paused. Alfred lifted his head and turned, trying to glimpse what Matthew was focusing on, when he saw Ivan standing in the doorway, peering around the lunchroom. A puzzled look crossed Ivan's face. Alfred frowned. Ivan rarely ate lunch in the cafeteria. He said it was because he couldn't stand listening to all the idiotic people there, and he also wanted to avoid Natalia.

"What are you two staring—" Arthur broke off. "I wonder why he's here."

"I need to talk to him," Alfred hissed, standing up.

"Alfred, wait," Matthew called, but Alfred paid no attention.

Ivan was so distracted that he didn't notice until Alfred stopped a few feet in front of him.

"We need to talk," fumed Alfred.

"No. I'm busy," Ivan replied curtly. "We have said everything there is to say. I have something I need to do."

"I think I know what you did," Alfred growled quietly. "Dude, you're one sick bastard. You knew about Gilbert, right? And I don't know exactly what you did, but it was because Gilbert was... was like me, right?"

The look of disdain disappeared from Ivan's eyes, replaced with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, his aggressive approach gone. "What are _you_ talking about?" he parroted, equally confused.

"What do you mean, what am I talking about?" Ivan challenged, raising his chin. Not that he had to; he was already several inches taller than Alfred (and most people). "You're the one who ran up to me with some accusation. I've no clue what you're squealing about."

"The fact that Gilbert was gay!" Alfred exclaimed.

A flicker of shock crossed Ivan's face. "I did not know that, Alfred," Ivan said, slowly and with obvious effort. "But that has nothing to do with my secret. Now, now, you were Gilbert's friend, weren't you? His very good friend."

Alfred was silent. He nodded, unsure of where the conversation was going.

"Surely you noticed that his arms were always bruised, didn't you?"

Another nod. More silence.

"Well, well." Ivan smirked. "That was my doing, thank you very much."

_My heart is still beating, isn't it? Isn't it? What the hell is going on? _

"I cannot let this get out, though. It would ruin my reputation," continued Ivan. "Hurting living people—well, that's one thing. Having a history of hurting someone who ultimately ending up committing suicide? We would have an issue there."

Alfred's mouth was opening and closing like a mounted fish. Finally, he choked out, "Why?"

"Oh?" Amusement lit up Ivan's face. "Because it was fun. He hated me, I hated him. It was a game."

"A game?" Alfred roared. He was dimly aware that the cafeteria had faded into silence, and everyone was watching. The air was tense, and a couple of people were whispering; some were wondering what was going on, others were hoping for a fight to break out. "You sadistic Communist! You had the nerve to lecture me about good morals when your father is a drunken alcoholic and you used to spend every day of your pathetic life tormenting—"

A swift punch to the jaw got Alfred to shut up. Ivan's face contorted with absolute rage. The bloodthirsty crowd's whispers became an uproar. Alfred stood there in stunned silence for a moment, a hand to his throbbing mouth. In a split second, he hurled himself at Ivan, absolutely ready to tear that stupid psycho apart, when he felt someone grab him.

"Alfred!" Mathias whispered, holding the American back. "Please, calm down. I was eavesdropping on the conversation you had with Ivan. Yes, he deserves to get the shit beaten out of him, and yes, I'll let you do that later if you want. But right now, you've got bigger issues." The Scandinavian seemed to vanish out of nowhere, leaving Alfred with a silent audience, a raging Russian and—oh, crap. Herr Bauer, the German teacher and (strict) lunchroom monitor, was approaching, his eye twitching. Alfred did indeed have bigger problems than dealing revenge to Ivan.

"Braginsky! Jones! Don't even bother explaining yourselves. Principal's office. Now," he ordered.

"_Es tut mir leid_, Herr Bauer," Ivan said, and Alfred remembered—with a pang of jealousy—that his, um, former friend took German and Herr Bauer heavily favored Ivan during class. Alfred took Spanish, and Herr Bauer probably knew him as a loudmouth who often got into petty trouble. The irritable teacher was already ushering Alfred out of the room for a visit to the school authorities (ugh), but Alfred spared the cafeteria one last glance.

Matthew and Arthur were staring at him in disbelief, a mixture of concern and awe. Alfred mouthed a quick apology to them. To his immense surprise, he found himself seeking out Natalia Arlovskaya. She was sitting near the back of the cafeteria, but she met his eyes. The Belarusian flashed him a quick smile, showing all her teeth, and Alfred had no doubt she had an idea of what the fight had been about.

A few moments after leaving the cafeteria behind, Alfred took the time to consider Gilbert. _First of all, if he wanted to destroy us after he killed himself, he's succeeding so far. I can't believe was gay. I can't believe he didn't say anything about it! No, more importantly, I can't believe he didn't say anything about Ivan..._

"Jones," snapped Herr Bauer. "Quit spacing out. Wait outside of the office with Ivan. I'll be right back."

"I should not have done that," Ivan said once Herr Bauer was out of earshot.

"Too late for regrets," Alfred laughed bitterly.

Ivan seemed in good spirits. An entertained smile favored his lips. "That wasn't an apology."

Alfred grinned in response. A friendly grin that covered up venom and hurt. "Never said it was."


	9. Detonation Warning I

_A/N: So many people are reading this story... thank you! Please review and I hope you enjoy this chapter! (Side note: December 9th is turning into one hell of a long day...)_

* * *

**December 9th **

"Hey, where is everyone?" Mathias asked. He had invited the Confidants' Club back to his house, mainly hoping he could calm everyone down (specifically Alfred and Ivan), because people were starting to lose patience with each other. Not good, since there were still six secret-keepers to find, and only fifteen days left. Only Antonio, Francis, Elizaveta, and Arthur had shown up.

"Mathieu has hockey on Mondays," Francis said. "Oh, and also, Ivan and Alfred are serving detention for a fight." He paused. "What fight, though? I wasn't in the cafeteria when whatever it was happened."

Arthur snorted. "They were venting their anger. Alfred's upset, Ivan's upset—it's not a good combination."

"Right. What was their punishment?" Mathias asked.

"Three days of detention for them both," Arthur replied. "Pretty light sentence. Herr Bauer wanted Alfred suspended, but I guess he got off easy."

"Well, good for them." Mathias seemed like he was considering his words. "Actually, as I was leaving school, Ivan told me he talked to Emil, and things are fine with him."

Antonio looked confused. "Wait, what? Who's Emil?"

Mathias quickly explained the tip Lukas had given him and the connection between Emil and Ivan. Elizaveta gasped, her hands to her mouth. "No way!"

"Sigh," Antonio said. Mathias raised an eyebrow. The Spaniard hadn't sighed, he'd literally said the word 'sigh'. "What's wrong? Do you want something to eat?"

"No, no." Antonio smiled, but everyone could tell it was forced, unlike his usual carefree expression. "I just... I'm wondering how Gilbert selected the secret-keepers, you know? It seems completely uncalled for. Natalia Arlovskaya and Alfred Jones? Emil Steilsson—a random underclassman—and Ivan Braginsky? I mean, what?"

Elizaveta nodded. "I know. I was thinking about that, too. It's almost like Gilbert chose people we have no connection with. Or maybe... maybe they're people he trusted?"

"Why the hell would he trust Natalia Arlovskaya?" Arthur asked.

Elizaveta's eyes became cold. "I don't know," she responded curtly. "I don't know anything about Gilbert anymore."

"Like that Ivan kept beating him up!" Mathias exclaimed, so disgruntled that he stood up from the plush couch he and Arthur had been sitting on.

Arthur choked on his tea. "What?" he coughed. "Are you serious? Is that why Ivan was beating him up? Because he was gay?!"

Mathias shook his head. "No, I heard Alfred and Ivan arguing before their fight, and Ivan said that he—"

"Wait," Elizaveta said. "Gilbert was gay?" The Hungarian's eyes widened in surprise when Mathias nodded. Francis' lips were parted in shock, half disbelief, half surprise. "Really? And he never said anything? Wow, this is quite... quite surprising." Francis smirked. "It's a shame. We could have had some fun, Gilbert and I, _oui_?"

Mathias sighed loudly. "Francis, why can't you just be _American?" _

"That's a terrible thing to say!" Elizaveta gasped. "Francis, he's dead! How thoughtless! Tasteless! I... you shouldn't be saying such things!"

"I was joking," Francis laughed, but he looked drained. "Sorry. I was just trying to make one joke. I know he's dead." He turned away from the other four, talking more to himself than anyone, and whispered, "_Désolé, mon ami._ More than anything, I wish you were alive. Gilbert, we miss you. There is no more 'Bad Touch Trio', Gil. We are just a duo now. Not even a duo. Just two sad souls who miss their good friend very much. How could you do this? Did I let you down? I'm sorry..."

**December 10th**

"Oh, Elizaveta, that's gorgeous!" Mei gasped. Michelle clasped her hands together, beaming. "Ravishing, _ma chèrie!_ I can't believe the dance is on Friday. And it's already Wednesday!"

Elizaveta's two best friends had insisted she model the dress she was going to be wearing to the Winter Soirée after school that day. It was a green, knee-length, tulle dress she had bought on clearance a few weeks back. Elizaveta flashed a smile. She was glad to be with her friends, of course, but what Arthur had said yesterday kept playing over and over in her mind, tormenting her.

_Because he was gay... _

Elizaveta wasn't like Ivan. Oh, no, not even close. She had no issues with gays at all. She and Kiku Honda were quite interested in them, actually. But Gilbert had... had been special to her. You might even go as far as to say she had a crush. There were only two issues with this—the aforementioned crush was gay and dead. Elizaveta exhaled, considering this. _Not exactly a recipe for success. _

Elizaveta changed back into jeans and a sweatshirt, throwing her brown hair into a ponytail. She sat cross-legged on her bed, contemplating all these things, until she realized Michelle was snapping her fingers. "Eliza. Anybody home?"

"Yes, yes, sorry. What is it?"

"You've been really distracted since..." Michelle took a deep breath. "I'm just gonna say it. You've been really distracted since Gilbert's death. It's concerning me."

Mei's eyes flew open. "Michelle!" she hissed. "We weren't going to talk about that!"

"Look, Eliza," Michelle said bluntly. "You've been holding all your emotions in. Trust me on this—if you don't let it out soon, you're going to explode. Detonate. And the pieces are going to fly everywhere, and they're going to be sharp, and it won't be pretty."

Mei frowned. "Aren't you being a little dramatic, Michelle?"

"Hey." Elizaveta smiled and rested her hands on Michelle's. "Yes, Gilbert's death is killing me. It hurts. I know you two weren't very close to him, and I—he and I were. But I'm going to be fine. I'm glad you worry about me. If you didn't, what kind of friend would you be?" At that, Michelle grinned. "However," Elizaveta continued, "you really don't need to. Everything's okay. You'll see."

* * *

Matthew liked Wednesdays. Sure, school usually happened then, but Wednesday was the middle day—the day no one noticed. Invisible. He related to it, if it's even possible to relate to a day of the week. And being at home, especially with the present events going on, was very comforting. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, cooking dinner, and his father would be getting home from work in an hour or so. He glanced over at his phone when he heard the chime indicating he had received a text.

_4:01 PM - Alfred Jones: DETENTION SUCKS. _

_4:02 PM - Matthew Williams: I'm sorry, Alfred, but maybe that's why you shouldn't get into random fights in the cafeteria!_

_4:02 PM - Alfred Jones: I hate it when you're right. At least my last one is tomorrow._

_4:03 PM - Matthew Williams: Uh, yeah. Count your blessings that you didn't get a Friday detention! _

"Matthew, can you give me a hand?" Mrs. Williams called.

"Yes, Mom, coming," Matthew replied, walking into the kitchen. He was wearing socks, but the cold tile made his toes curl. He grimaced. He wondered if dying felt cold.

"So," Mrs. Williams said while her son was chopping carrots. "Are you going to that dance your school is holding on Friday?"

Matthew felt himself redden. "No, Mom. I'm not."

"Aw, but sweetie, aren't all your friends going?"

"They are," Matthew said. It was true. Francis was taking Michelle, and he remembered that Arthur had somewhat rudely asked Elizaveta the previous week. He wondered if Alfred was going. Probably. Alfred was pretty popular, but at this point, Matthew was willing to bet he didn't have a 'special girl' in mind. But the student body didn't know that. "Dances aren't really fun for me."

Mrs. Williams chuckled. "Oh, Matt, you're just like your father."

Matthew and his mother were silent for the rest of the dinner preparation. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence—Matthew was normally pretty quiet—but the second the task was done, Matthew went back into the living room. Like clockwork, another text had appeared on his phone, but this one wasn't from Alfred.

_4:20 PM - Mathias Køhler: You better be at the Soirée on Friday. We're looking for secret-keepers. Also there will be food. It's gonna be GREAT._

_4:20 PM - Mathias Køhler: Actually, 'interesting' is probably a more accurate adjective..._

Matthew read it quickly, then groaned, flopping down on the couch. Convincing his mother that dances weren't his thing was one thing, but...

_4:21 PM - Matthew Williams: Fine._


	10. Pleasant Sarcasm

_A/N: I can't believe we've reached ten chapters! To anyone who has given me advice and help, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It appears everyone hates Ivan now... Hmm... That's his loss!_

* * *

**December 11th**

Antonio was sitting at the desk in his room, tapping a pencil against the wood. He had grown tired of attempting to do English homework and was staring out the window, watching snow drift down from the gray, cloudy sky. School had been pretty routine. He was tired of hearing about the Soirée. A few weeks ago, Antonio had asked Bella, the beautiful blonde girl from Belgium he liked the tiniest bit, only to find that she was going with Abel. Oh, well. Antonio didn't mind too much. Really, he blamed his gloomy mood on the sky. Overcast. No hint of the shiny, bright sun he loved.

And Francis. Francis again. Antonio was worried about Francis, usually for various reasons. There was that time near the end of summer when Francis and his girlfriend of a year, Jeanne, had broken up. It hadn't been pretty. And Francis was usually pretty dramatic, having a knack for over-the-top soliloquies and heart-jerking monologues. But all those times, Francis had Antonio and Gilbert to comfort him. Now, if anything went wrong, there was just plain old Antonio. And Antonio was pretty sure something was wrong.

The trouble had started at the previous Confidants' Club meeting, the one at Mathias' house on Tuesday. Francis hadn't been acting normally since then. Instead of making flirtatious comments to every life form he saw, he was unusually withdrawn from life. Instead of bashing school meals during lunch, he ate dejectedly and headed to class without much conversation. Sure, Antonio had heard Francis mumbling nonsense apologies to Gilbert during the Tuesday meeting, but surely that wasn't why...? Or could it...? Still, he didn't want to randomly question Francis. Though he should have, he didn't. He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Arthur Kirkland's.

He never talked to Arthur Kirkland, except when they got paired up in class, or maybe recently at the Confidants' Club meetings. The two weren't so fond of each other, but Antonio knew Arthur and Francis were friends. Sort of. It rang three times before Arthur picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello. It's Antonio."

"Antonio?" Antonio could hear the skepticism in Arthur's voice. "Well, um, hello. Can I help you?"

"Actually, yes. Have you talked to Francis since Tuesday?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Does he seem... off to you?"

"So you noticed, too. It's like he snapped!" Annoyance laced Arthur's voice for reasons Antonio couldn't begin to fathom.

"I think he's acting strangely," Antonio tried again.

"I also think one plus one equals two," Arthur replied dryly.

Antonio exhaled loudly. This is why he didn't enjoy talking to Arthur. Too much sarcasm and too much of a cynical perspective for the Spaniard's liking. "Well, what do you think is wrong with him?"

"What isn't wrong with him?" Arthur fired back. "I think he's grieving, actually. For Gilbert."

"But why now?"

"I know. I know." Arthur sounded agitated. "I mean, Gilbert's been dead for more than a month, and now Francis suddenly seems to notice? It's like he's been on autopilot these past few weeks. But I guess I'll talk to him. See if he's okay."

"Maybe it's his coping mechanism."

"What's yours?"

Antonio paused. "What?"

"Yours," Arthur said. "What's your coping mechanism?"

"Hmm..." Antonio bit his lip lightly, considering this. "Smile through it, I guess. Maybe you'll even make other people happy."

Arthur snorted. "You're so naïve, Antonio."

"I'm not naïve. I'm optimistic."

"It's the same thing."

"It's not," Antonio said. "At least, I like to believe they're different. I like to believe you can trust people and hope for the best without looking like an idiot."

"An idiot, huh? That reminds me of something. You're close with the Vargas family, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, very much so. Aren't you and Lovino friends? You two are so alike."

Arthur sighed. "No. I worked with him on a group project once. I don't want to spend time with someone who insults me all day and only addresses me as 'bastard'. Besides, with our personalities, it would be only a matter of time before one of us offs the other."

"Yes, it's very annoying when someone insults you nonstop," Antonio said pointedly. Arthur laughed. "Sorry. Anyway, I think you should talk to Feliciano Vargas."

"Oh, really? Why?" Antonio asked.

"I think he's a secret-keeper."

"Feliciano?" exclaimed Antonio. "He couldn't hurt a fly."

"Yes, but he was close with Gilbert through Ludwig, and he's such an... excuse me, but he's an idiot, as you say. Don't you think he'd do Gilbert's bidding?"

"Well, Feli's not idiotic, first of all. He's actually got very high marks in all his classes. He just acts dumb. Or, well, he's truly naïve."

"Okay, okay, whatever. I still think you should talk to him. Hint about things."

Antonio's eyes were focused on the snow buffeting around outside his bedroom window. "Sure. When were you actually planning to tell me all this?"

"I was going to at the Soirée, but then you called, so I figured I'd just tell you now."

Pause. "All right," Antonio said finally. "Thank you. I'll talk to him. See you tomorrow."

There was more silence, and Arthur eventually said, "Okay. And I'll speak to Francis."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

There was another minute of serene hush, until Antonio was the one to finally hang up.

* * *

Ivan had been dreading this. On Tuesday, after he and Alfred had gotten into that very public, very damaging fight, after he had gotten sent to the principal's office like a grade-schooler, after he had confronted Emil, after he had done all those things, he had gotten a letter.

Oh, he knew it was coming. But that did not make it any better.

He had spoken to Emil before school ended the day he found out the Icelandic kid was his secret-keeper, and Emil had pulled an envelope out of his bag, just like the one Natalia had given Alfred, except this one was addressed to Ivan. Despite Ivan's words to Alfred in the cafeteria, despite everything he had said about Gilbert's life being a game, he felt a genuine loss at Gilbert's death. He and Gilbert had a... strange relationship. Since it had been several days since he had received the letter, Ivan decided it was time to open it. It was still folded in one of his textbooks.

He had just gotten out of his last detention (and his father had been beyond pissed that Ivan was fighting on school grounds), so Ivan got home and locked himself in his room with the textbook and a glass of water.

_So, Commie, we've reached the end of an era, haven't we? But this is no time for sentiment. I can't believe you actually figured out that Emil was harboring your secret, though knowing you, you probably threatened to mutilate him unless he did your bidding. No, wait, you favored Emil, didn't you? Anyway, listen: I know your life sucks. I know your father's a wasted old jerk and your mother doesn't have time for you, but that doesn't excuse your actions. I can't stand to talk about this right now, so I will write about things I want you to know. Things I'd like to say to you. _

_First of all, I hope you're working with the group, because that will simplify things for you all. At this point in time, you may or may not have the other letters, but in some of those, I basically say, 'Oh, your fault lies in the other letters.' Or 'I'm sorry'. Well, Ivan, the other letters won't help you here. You have no reason to find them, because I'm about to tell you everything you need to know. For you, it's all here. Pay attention. We were never friends. You were simply lumped into that group. I'm not going to lie, Ivan. I hate you. But you were a very fun rival. An interesting one. You kept me on my toes; I kept you on yours. I respect you for that._

_ But I don't respect some of the choices you've made. How hypocritical does that sound, considering I ended my own life? Probably very, but I don't care. Another thing, Ivan: you are different from the others, in the sense that I bet you find these secrets quite disgusting. Well, I find you disgusting, so it's all good. One last question—as I said earlier, I hope you're working with the group, but either way, I'm wondering: Where do you buy your vodka? _

_Береги себя,_ _Gilbert Beilschmidt _

_Береги себя_. 'Best wishes'. Or 'take care of yourself'. Gilbert probably thought that was a nice touch to add to a suicide letter for a Russian acquaintance.

Ivan was bewildered. The letter seemed to switch between so many topics. So, the underlying theme in the two letters uncovered so far was 'work in a group', which the Confidants' Club was doing, but why? Gilbert had literally stated that Ivan had no reason to hunt for the other letters. Hadn't he? And...

_Where do you buy your vodka? _

What on earth did that mean? How was it related to anything at all? Oh, well. Ivan's head was aching, so he took an aspirin, made sure that he had his suit and tie laid out for tomorrow's Soirée, and went to bed. He would worry about his problems later.


	11. Detonation Warning II

_A/N: Natalia and Lovino were already noted together in the coffeehouse confrontation, but they aren't dating. They're just very good friends. Also, I'm going to start getting sidetracked on this story. And by that, I mean I'll develop the character's 'backstories' and interactions more, if you know what I mean._

* * *

**December 12th **

Lovino Vargas hated chemistry. Despised it. First of all, he had to share a class not only with his brother Feliciano, but also with nearly every asshole in the eleventh grade. It was almost as if the school had purposely lumped him in a class with a bunch of dimwits. Lovino allowed a heavy sigh to pass his lips and looked around the classroom. People-watching never got old. The teacher was droning on about some chemical Lovino didn't bother to comprehend. He'd pass the class anyway. He always did.

Kiku Honda, Lovino's lab partner, was studiously taking notes. That was fine; Lovino didn't mind Kiku that much. Heracles Karpusi was drifting off to sleep. Ivan Braginsky and Alfred Jones seemed to be cold-shouldering each other. Lovino didn't care. They were probably fighting over a girl or something dumb. Near the front of the room, Feliciano was—wait, what?

Feliciano was on his phone? _During class? _

That wasn't unusual for a student. But for Feliciano? He was always attentive and obedient during class. Lovino took out his phone and texted his brother.

_11:39 AM - Lovino Vargas: What are you doing? _

After five minutes, Feliciano hadn't answered, and it was obvious he was still on his phone. Lovino snorted and turned to Elizaveta Héderváry, the hard-working girl seated to his left. "Hey," he whispered.

She looked up from her chemistry textbook. "Yeah?"

"Um... do you have a hairband?"

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow at her classmate. "Sure," she muttered, pulling one off her wrist. Lovino swore girls wore those things like a code. "Thanks," he replied softly. He turned back to the front of the room, but he was aware that Elizaveta was still watching him curiously. Lovino was indifferent to this and looped her hairband around his fingers, taking aim. His aim was excellent. He did this too often. Elizaveta looked amused and fairly surprised.

Lovino let the hairband fly, watching it arc through the classroom and hit his stupid brother on the head. Finally. That got Feliciano's attention. He turned around, staring at Lovino. Feliciano actually looked somewhat annoyed, a facial expression that didn't suit him.

_Respond,_ Lovino mouthed, pointing at his own phone. Feliciano nodded and turned back around.

"Sorry about your hairband," Lovino murmured to Elizaveta. She just smiled and continued taking notes.

_11:45 AM - Feliciano Vargas: Sorry! I was texting Antonio._

_11:46 AM - Lovino Vargas: What the fuck? The tomato bastard?!_

_11:47 AM - Feliciano Vargas: Please, he just wanted to talk about Gilbert Beilschmidt. _

Lovino frowned. Antonio wasn't even in this class. Couldn't he have just waited until lunch? Lovino sent Feliciano several more text messages, all wondering about the tomato bastard and Gilbert, but Feliciano ignored them all. The second the bell rang for lunch, Lovino's _fratello_ had disappeared.

* * *

Lovino was fairly surprised when he walked to his usual table in the cafeteria and Feliciano was sitting there. Feliciano usually sat with Antonio and Bella, or Kiku Honda, or Ludwig Beilschmidt, Gilbert's younger brother, who was in the tenth grade. But Feli never sat with Lovino and his friends. (Or, more accurately, _friend_—just him and Natalia Arlovskaya.)

"What are you doing here?" barked Lovino, setting down his stuff and sitting next to Natalia.

"Oh! I was going to talk to you about Antonio," Feliciano replied.

Lovino rolled his eyes, opening his Thermos. "Then by all means, go ahead."

Natalia looked genuinely interested. "What?"

"Antonio didn't go into that much detail, so I'm not really sure what he was trying to say, but when he was texting me, he kept hinting about, like..." Feliciano's hands were moving furiously. "A secret. And Gilbert Beilschmidt. And he kept asking me if I knew any secrets of Gilbert's. Before he died, I mean. Antonio asked if Gilbert talked to me."

Lovino set down his fork. His pasta wasn't sitting with him so well anymore...

"D-did he?" Natalia asked, looking just as sick as Lovino did. This confused Lovino, but he was too preoccupied to ask why this mattered to Natalia.

"Hmm?" Feliciano looked cheerful as always. "No, I didn't know what he was talking about." Feliciano stood up. "I'm going to go sit with Kiku now! He's gonna talk about this manga called Evangel—"

"Okay," interrupted Lovino. "Just... just go, Feli. Bye."

"I, uh, wonder what that was about," Natalia said shakily once Feliciano had left.

Lovino knew. And he had a sneaking suspicion that Natalia did, too.

* * *

Arthur was regretting his decision to confide in Matthew. Well, in a complicated way. After Antonio had called Arthur yesterday, Arthur had chatted with Matthew about Francis. Matthew agreed that there was definitely something up, and the two had decided to confront Francis about it during lunch the next day. Which, unfortunately, meant they had to talk about it _now._

That was going fine for Matthew. He and Francis were having a fast-paced conversation in French, while Arthur was left to deal with an angry, melodramatic Alfred.

"Come on, Alfred," Arthur attempted. "It's Friday. Brighten up. And that dance is later today! You were fine yesterday. What's the matter? You're not even eating, and it's pizza!" The Brit plastered a fake smile on his face.

Alfred glared at his friend. "Ivan-fucking-Braginsky is the matter."

Arthur frowned. Of course. Several people had been coming up to Arthur and asking what had happened between Ivan and Alfred, knowing Arthur was close friends with the latter. "It's not your business," Arthur would tell them. "Go away. Don't you have more important things to worry about?" But there were lots of rumors going around. Everyone who had been in the cafeteria that Tuesday had seen the fight. In fact, since Alfred and Ivan were ignoring each other now, many people were referring to their little drama as the Second Cold War. "Oh," Heracles had said to Arthur the day before, "Russians and Americans never really did get along, did they?"

"Don't let him get to you," Arthur said, though in truth, he wasn't so fond of Ivan either. But he had never been close with Ivan. Alfred had. Personally, Arthur thought Ivan was being ridiculous and shallow, but he knew how weirded out Ivan could get by these things.

"Say, Iggy," Alfred muttered cheerlessly, "you never told me—what's your secret?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Nothing," he said sharply and much too loudly. He tried to lower the volume of his voice, because Matthew, Francis, and Alfred were all staring at him.

Alfred shrugged, looking mildly interested. _Nosy git!_ "We'll probably find out sooner or later," Alfred reasoned. "C'mon, Iggy, tell us now."

"It's nothing. Actually." Arthur forced a shaky laugh.

"Tell us," Alfred pressed.

"It's totally irrelevant!" Arthur finally exclaimed. "I'm not trying to sound rude, but Gilbert shouldn't be blaming me for my secret. It's absurd that he would hold this over my head! I certainly couldn't have done anything about it. It's stupid. No, it's more than that. It's _unrealistic!"_

"Arthur," Francis said. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he didn't dare.

Matthew and Alfred were staring at Arthur, who was sitting there, cheeks red and breath short from his sudden lament. Arthur picked up his apple. "Well, it's _true_!"

"My God, Arthur," Alfred said quietly.

"Stop staring at me," Arthur snapped, feeling he had to defend himself after what he had just said. He changed the subject. "Francis, I see you're feeling better, huh?"

Francis' eyes narrowed, but not in a mean way. He was obviously thinking very intensely, very quickly, and very strategically. It seemed everyone was flipping out for the smallest of reasons lately—Alfred, Ivan, Arthur, even Francis himself. It would be best to choose words carefully from thereon out. "Well, yes," Francis said. "To be candid, the other day at Mathias', I think it really hit me that Gilbert isn't coming back. Ever."

Arthur snorted. "It's been more than a month."

"Yes, but this... this secret stuff—I mean, he didn't drop it on us until December first," Francis replied.

Arthur nodded, his face burning with anger and embarrassment. It was true. Gilbert had killed himself in early November. His funeral had been on November 15th. By December, everyone thought all traces of him were slowly fading away. Arthur had been trying to forget. Not only about Gilbert's death, but about—about someone else, too. Someone whose life was massively intertwined with his secret. And Arthur was not happy about this. Then, eight people got slammed with those secret threats...

"Arthur," Alfred said gently. "I'm sorry. Can you help me with my homework?"

Arthur smiled weakly. "You should have done it at home, idiot."

"I know," Alfred said. "I forgot."

"Git," Arthur said, but he knew—in a weird way—Alfred was trying to make him feel better by admitting he needed help, even with something as insignificant as his homework. When Arthur had first moved to the United States in sixth grade—the first year of American middle school—things had been chaotic and painful, and Alfred had loyally stuck by Arthur and helped him adjust. Arthur vowed to repay the favor. Plus, he liked helping people. He looked at Alfred's assignment, just like old times. The air of the lunch table was tense, but Arthur ignored it. He scanned over a passage in Alfred's textbook.

But Arthur knew, deep down, that the Confidants' Club's emotions couldn't be overlooked forever. Sooner or later, something was going to happen, and it would probably be more than a fight in the cafeteria or an emotional breakdown during a talk. At the rate things were going, a storm was going to break sometime, and everyone standing in range was going to get hurt.


	12. Passing Notes

_A/N: Over 100 reviews! Thank you all so much! Okay, let me quickly remind you guys of something: Himaruya mentioned that sometimes Hungary has a foul mouth. This isn't even relevant, actually. I just felt the need to say that in case she somehow starts dropping f-bombs. As an added note, Louise Canella is Monaco._

* * *

**December 12th **

"Elizaveta, can I talk with you for a moment?"

Elizaveta had been gathering papers from her locker during lunch. The halls were silent. Everyone was in the cafeteria, and she was planning to go there next. She turned her head. Ivan was standing there, looking down at her. Elizaveta paused. "Ivan. What do you need?"

"Could you come over to my house today—after school?"

"What?" Elizaveta actually laughed. She hadn't meant to. But it was funny—I mean, Ivan Braginsky inviting her over to his house? Well, the day was full of surprises!

Ivan's cheeks reddened. "I... I have to talk to you about something, and you're one of the only people in the Confidants' Club who isn't upset with me."

Elizaveta shuffled around some papers so she wouldn't have to look at Ivan. "Well, to be fair, I don't blame them for being mad at you! You've been horrible to Alfred."

"I opened the letter," Ivan said. That got Elizaveta's attention. She paused and looked back up at him. Her voice was strained as she asked, "The letter from Emil?"

Ivan nodded. Elizaveta weighed her options. "All right, fine. I'll stop by your house. But I can't stay there very long. I have to get ready for the Soirée."

"Fine," Ivan said. "Drive yourself over any time. I'll be waiting."

Meanwhile, back in the cafeteria, Lovino could stand the awkward silence no longer. "Do you know what Feliciano was talking about?" he asked. "Be honest."

Natalia tucked a strand of long, blonde hair behind her ear. "Yes, I do. What about you?"

"I think so. Gilbert? Having to keep someone's secret until Christmas?"

Natalia nodded, and Lovino felt relieved. In late October, Lovino had found a letter addressed to him in his mailbox. No information. It had been dropped off by hand. And when Lovino opened it, it was filled with details about a certain person, about everything Lovino would have to do. Signed, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Lovino had no clue that there were other people who had received similar directions from the now-deceased Gilbert. And it was such a relief that he wasn't the only one.

"Whose secret are you keeping?" Natalia asked.

Lovino hesitated. "Bonnefoy's."

"Ah," Natalia said. "I got Alfred Jones, but he already asked me about it. He's safe. How many of them do you think there are? Obviously we know that Antonio has a secret."

"No clue. I wonder how many of us secret-keepers there are, actually. I thought I was the only one."

"Me, too," Natalia replied. "Gilbert never said anything about more secret-keepers. Or about anything, really."

"I wonder why he did all this," Lovino remarked. "He left quite a mess for the living."

Natalia closed her eyes. Shook her head. "Yeah, he did."

At another table, Antonio was sitting with Bella and Abel, feeling absolutely hopeless. He had spoken with Feliciano, just like Arthur had suggested, and... _nada_. Feliciano was clueless about the whole thing. This left him nowhere. He had no clue who might be harboring knowledge about the people in the Confidants' Club. He took out his phone.

_12:20 PM - Antonio Carriedo: Feliciano isn't a secret keeper._

_12:22 PM - Arthur Kirkland: Oh no, really?_

_12:23 PM - Antonio Carriedo: Yeah. _

There wasn't really much more than that to say. Antonio jumped when Bella poked his cheek.

"What's the matter?" Bella asked cheerfully.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat. He looked at her brilliant green eyes. Pleasant. Enthusiastic. There was no way she could be a secret-keeper, right? At least, not for Antonio. If she was, she was an excellent actress. Better than Antonio. "N-nothing," he murmured.

"Are you sure?" Abel asked gruffly.

Then, Antonio lied. But it wasn't a big lie. Or maybe it was, depending on your point of view. "No," he said. "I'm fine."

* * *

_We need to talk. -Alfred_

Arthur looked up from his textbook when a folded piece of notebook paper landed on his desk. He glanced around before answering it.

_-About? _

He passed the note back to Alfred, and a few seconds later:

_Lunch._

_-Okay, what about lunch?_

_Dude, you had, like, a 'meltdown'. What happened?_

_-Alfred, you kept pressuring me about the secret!_

_So then just tell me what it is! You know mine!_

Arthur gritted his teeth. Still, Alfred had a point... He tapped his pen against the desk's surface a few times before writing a reply.

_-It's seriously nothing. Like I said, it's pointless and... it's just stupid. Gil was being stupid._

_Shit, dude, that's NOT gonna cut it!_

Arthur frowned, staring at the sheet of paper. The rain... the memory... choosing not to help... Gilbert had certainly picked the (arguably) worst secret of Arthur's. He probably had the worst secret in the whole group, dammit. So Arthur made a decision, then and there, to tell the truth. Or, at least, the beginning of the truth. Or, at the _very_ least, to mention the topic. To make people aware of it so that it wouldn't weigh him down as much.

_-Fine. It's about Louise Canella. _

_OH, FUCK! WHAT?!_

_-I'll explain later._

"Mr. Kirkland, are you passing notes during class?" the teacher questioned, striding over to Arthur's desk. Arthur's heart dropped to his stomach. He knew that if you got caught passing notes in class, the notes were read out loud in front of everyone.

"Mr. Roberts, it's not—" Arthur began, but the teacher swiped up the sheet of paper and cleared his throat.

The class seemed confused by the notes, whispering about the secret. When the topic of Louise Canella came up, several people gasped, and Mr. Roberts turned to look at Arthur. "Who is Louise Canella? An underclassman?"

Most of the people in the class knew who Louise was, and their murmurs were growing louder and louder.

"No, but she doesn't have this class, sir," Arthur said, his throat dry. It was true. Just not necessarily the best kind of true.

Mr. Roberts sighed. "Of course I know that. She isn't one of my students. I don't recognize her name. Who is she? And why is there so much profanity in this?"

Alfred cut in, saving Arthur. "Louise Canella is dead, sir," he said. "She passed away a few years ago."

Mr. Roberts' eyes widened slightly, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. "That—I'm afraid that is most unfortunate," he said, dropping the paper into the trash can. "F-from now on, please refrain from passing notes in class, Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Jones."

"Yes sir."

* * *

As soon as the bell rang, Arthur made a mad dash for the door, knowing that people were going to start coming over to him and asking him questions. Most of them were, "What did you have to do with that?" Or, "What secrets?" Or, "What's Alfred's secret?" And a few people even asked, "Who's Louise Canella?" That question bothered him the most.

Arthur opened his locker as quickly as he could and hurried to his next class, which was, coincidentally, also shared with Alfred.

"Hey," Alfred hissed, appearing at Arthur's desk before the class began. "You have to tell me now. What was your secret? Arthur, _tell me_!"

"I just wanted to say that it had to do with Louise," Arthur said, and to his relief, the bell rang again, signaling that the class was beginning.

Arthur considered what the hell he had just done. Everyone who had been in class with Arthur since eighth grade knew who Louise Canella was. Her name was the kind of name that, if whispered in the halls, would most certainly draw attention. Just like Alfred had said, Louise had died years before. She and her family had moved from Monaco to the United States when Louise had been in sixth grade. In the summer between their eighth and ninth grade years, Louise had been hit by a bus. Everyone—parents, teachers, students, friends, _everyone_—had all argued over whether it had been a suicide or an accident. Some said that Louise was too young to have killed herself, just fourteen years old. Arthur thought that was asinine. Others said that she was too smart to have not noticed a huge bus rushing towards her, and that she had obviously taken her own life. Arthur didn't entirely agree with that, either. No one could come to an agreement.

Arthur sighed in frustration when he saw a text from Alfred appear on his phone.

_2:30 PM - Alfred Jones: How did YOU have anything to do with Louise Canella? What was Gilbert even talking about?_

_2:31 PM - Arthur Kirkland: I SAID I'd tell you later, git!_

With that, Arthur switched off his phone, praying no one would ask him anything else about secrets, Alfred, Louise, or—God forbid—Gilbert.


	13. Leave the Lights On

_A/N: I made Fem!Russia Ivan's cousin, but she and Ivan aren't related to Katyusha. Also, Of Monsters and Men is real Icelandic band; they're amazing. Let me apologize quickly: I rewrote this chapter maybe five times. Sure, it's practically a filler chapter, but it was incredibly hard to write—no clue why—so I hope you like it!_

* * *

**December 12th**

Ivan stared at the window of his house, befuddled by what he saw. Though he was in broad daylight, he could glimpse lights burning downstairs. That couldn't be right... Ivan's mother wouldn't be home from work for hours, and his father was usually getting sloshed at some bar, or sleeping on the couch with a bottle of something in his hand.

Elizaveta pulled into the driveway and parked.

"Thank you for the ride," Ivan said.

"No problem," Elizaveta replied, unbuckling her seat belt and glancing over at Ivan. "Are you all right?"

Ivan shook his head, as if pulling himself out of a daze. "Yes, I am fine. Let's go inside." They walked up to the front door, and Ivan was about to pull his house key out of his backpack when he froze. The door was already unlocked. He started at the doorknob until Elizaveta cleared her throat impatiently. "Sorry," he said, pushing the door open.

The smell of baking bread enveloped Elizaveta and Ivan. The hall lights were on. Elizaveta didn't seem fazed by any of this, and Ivan remembered that she grew up with two loving parents and was probably used to coming home to a place where everyone waited on you if you stayed out late, or at least left the porch lights on.

"Ivan, are you home from school? Oh, goodness! You've gotten so tall! What are you, 6'5? 6'6? Wow!"

Ivan snorted at the sound of that voice. Two seconds later, Anya Braginskaya, his older cousin, appeared from down the hall—probably from the kitchen—smiling and holding her arms out for a hug.

"Anya," Ivan managed as she pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, "What are you doing here? In the United States?"

She pretended to look hurt. "Silly! I came in to visit. Actually, I had to go to Canada—business trip—so I figured I'd stop by before going home to Russia! You aren't going to kick me out, are you?"

"N-no! Of course not," Ivan said quickly. "Make yourself at home..."

Anya noticed Elizaveta. "Oh, Ivan, you brought a girl home? How nice!" She squinted at Elizaveta, then smiled again. "Hey, I recognize you! Elizabeth?"

"Elizaveta," the Hungarian corrected politely. "Um, do I know you... Anya? I'm afraid I don't recognize you. I'm not so good with names and faces."

"Hmm." Anya frowned again, concentrating. "Da! I think so. Didn't you sell—or, maybe not?" she softened, waving a hand. "Well, I can see it's snowing here! I didn't think America got much snow. I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed. I wanted a sunny trip, but this is fine. Ivan, where are your parents?"

"Work," Ivan said immediately. Elizaveta glanced at Ivan. She remembered what Alfred had said in the cafeteria fight about Ivan's father being an alcoholic. Elizaveta felt bad for Ivan. Her aunt was an alcoholic, so she knew what it was like. In fact, her aunt always had bottles of—

Elizaveta's thoughts were interrupted by Anya, who had been chatting with Ivan in Russian. Thankfully, she switched to English, though Elizaveta still had a slight issue with understanding Anya's heavy accent. "A dance? You two are going to a dance? And it is tonight?!"

"Well, we're not going together," Elizaveta replied awkwardly. "I already have a date." _Yeah. A cynical, bossy, loud-mouthed 'gentleman'._

"No matter!" Anya laughed. "I'll do your makeup. Oh, may I? Please?"

"Sure, but—" Elizaveta began, glancing at Ivan. "I hate to ask this of you, Anya, but could I just talk to Ivan for a moment? Alone?" Elizaveta asked.

Anya nodded. "Of course, _dorogaya! _If you like, when you two are finished, you can come into the kitchen. I made some bread."

Once Anya had left the foyer, Ivan sighed. "She's so annoying."

"Ivan! She's your cousin. And she seems really nice. Truly."

Ivan seemed amused. "Oh, I really do love her, very much so. But she's annoying. She's twenty-three, yet she still feels the need to visit every so often."

"Take that as a compliment," Elizaveta said. "Now, where's the letter?"

"It's upstairs. I'll go get it."

While Ivan was searching for letter, Elizaveta courteously stayed in the foyer, thinking about Anya Braginskaya. Although Elizaveta didn't specifically remember Anya, she did seem a bit familiar. And what had she been saying at selling things...? No, Elizaveta decided, she didn't know Anya. Anya must have been thinking of someone else. Elizaveta pushed the thoughts from her mind and waited for Ivan to return.

"Here's the letter," he said, walking back down the stairs, paper in hand.

Elizaveta took it from him carefully, scared that it might explode or rip her head off. She read it over, brows knit. When she was finished, she looked up at him. "Well, it's not exactly the nicest letter I've ever read," she said, her voice controlled and distant.

"That was to be expected. For me, at least," Ivan said. "Do you know what any of it means?"

Elizaveta's eyes widened. "Are you accusing me of something?" she snapped. "Because let me tell you, you're in no position to!"

Ivan stepped back, astonished by her offended and sudden reaction. "N-no! Of course not. I was just wondering if you knew what any of it meant!"

She pressed her lips into a hard line. "Ah. I see. Apologies. Well, I have a guess."

"Go for it. And hurry," Ivan added when he heard Anya calling, "You two coming?"

"Okay, well. You've heard of chain reactions, obviously? Yeah? Well, I think that's what happened here. Not a scientific chain reaction. A figurative one. We know Gilbert said that all the information _you _need is right here, but I think he wants you to keep working with the group so... so we know how everything fits together, you know? How one thing lead to another and how we ultimately screwed up his life."

"Makes sense," Ivan said. "Thank you for coming over. Now, let's get into the kitchen before Anya has a heart attack."

* * *

Emil was flipping through his eighth grade yearbook, sighing nostalgically. He looked over everyone's signatures. Raivis, Yong-Soo, and Lilli had all written quotes from various _Of Monsters and Men_ songs, only because both Emil and the band were both Icelandic, and somehow they found that fascinating. He traced a finger over one of the citations Lilli had left him. He wasn't daydreaming, but he was coming very close to it—something he rarely did.

"Emil, what on earth are you doing?"

Emil snapped the yearbook shut, balancing it on his knee. It probably wasn't so smart of him to have been doing that in the middle of the family room... Emil looked up at Lukas. Lukas was wearing a black suit and tie, black dress pants, and a light blue dress shirt. Emil's eyes flicked to the clock on the fireplace's mantle. 5:46 PM.

"I was, uh," Emil began, tapping the hard, shiny cover of the yearbook. He changed the subject. "You look dressed up."

"I _am_ going to a dance."

"Thanks, genius," Emil snapped. "Next year, I'll be old enough to go, and I'll annoy you all evening!"

"But I'll be a senior, and I'll be massively above your influence, idiot," Lukas said. "But back to why I came over. Did I tell you what happened when I was working the other day? On Monday, I think?" Lukas asked, sitting down on the couch next to his younger stepbrother.

"No, what?"

"Mathias Køhler and Arthur Kirkland came into the Café Italia."

"So?" Emil asked incredulously. "Maybe they just wanted some coffee."

"No, because Feliciano Vargas was at the counter, and they specifically asked for me."

"Maybe they're your secret admirers," Emil teased. Lukas rolled his eyes and said, "Anyway, when I started talking about you, they seemed genuinely interested."

Emil opened his yearbook again, reading more signatures, trying to look nonchalant. "I wonder why."

"They got all excited when I mentioned a secret," Lukas added. "Do you remember talking about that? About Gilbert?"

Emil paused, completely still. "W-what? I—" Emil laughed nervously, his heart hammering in his chest. Shit. How did Arthur and Mathias know about this? Had Ivan said something? No, impossible. Those three upperclassmen weren't even close with each other... Right?

But wait. That didn't make sense. Lukas said Arthur and Mathias had been at the Café Italia on Monday, and Ivan hadn't asked Emil about the secret until Tuesday. So that meant—Lukas stood up, car keys in hand. "I have to get going—to the Soirée, you know. It starts at six. And, Emil?"

"J-ja?"

The Norwegian scowled. "Please, be careful. There are selfish, vengeful people in the world, and I'm afraid many of them go to our school." Then, he called a quick goodbye to his parents and walked out the door, leaving Emil to process everything. Emil fixed his eyes on the white carpet, worries rushing through his mind. Lukas hadn't exactly _confronted_ Emil, but still, he clearly had an idea of the things that were going on.

But just how _much_ did Lukas know?


	14. Remembrance

_A/N: When I sat down to write this, I already knew what I wanted to make this chapter about_—_but when I stopped writing, it was totally different. Apparently I have no control over my writing anymore. Also, Monaco's a bit OOC, but I could barely find any information on her. Sorry. Please review and enjoy!_

* * *

**December 12th**

Arthur was terrified. He couldn't believe Mr. Roberts had read the note aloud—well, he could, but at the same time, it just wasn't fair. If Mr. Roberts had known who Louise was, maybe he wouldn't have touched on the subject, but he did, and everyone who did know—well, this wasn't looking good for Arthur. He sat on his bed, watching the snow, thinking about what was happening.

Louise's death had been his fault. And now, since Gilbert was blaming Arthur for his suicide, he was responsible for not one but two deaths.

Okay, Louise's death hadn't been entirely his doing. But he could have stopped it. However, the only person who knew that was Gilbert. That meant that the only person who knew Arthur was to blame was dead, but the secret wasn't necessarily safe.

**June 4th, ****_two years earlier_**

Summer break. The summer break between eighth and ninth grade. Everyone was preparing for their first year of high school. Arthur, Gilbert, and Louise were hanging out, and it was early June, just before Elizaveta's birthday. Gilbert was close with Elizaveta, so when he suggested walking to a shop so he could buy her something, everyone agreed. It was a dark, cloudy day, and halfway to the store they were going to, a light mist began curling up from the ground. It was cool and refreshing. Finally, they reached a busy intersection. The store was just across it, and Gilbert said, "You two wait here. I'm going to go see if it's closed right now or not. I'll be right back." And he disappeared down the crosswalk.

Arthur was left with Louise. He didn't like her very much. Didn't dislike her. Just didn't care for her. He tried to make idle conversation, but after a few attempts at random subjects, it was unbearably awkward. He gave up and just stood there, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the light mist. The dark sky reminded him of London.

"Why does Gilbert like Elizaveta so much?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open. Louise had been silent for so long, he almost forgot she was there. Arthur watched cars rush by on the street, praying for patience. He could hear the edge in Louise's voice, so he said, "I don't know. They've been close friends. I don't really know when they met. They've lived in the US longer than I have."

"I see," Louise said. Her eyes were deadly and stormy. Arthur was growing concerned for Elizaveta. He didn't know her that well, but he was quite fond of her.

"What, are you jealous?" Arthur joked, trying to lighten the mood, but it was the wrong thing to say.

"No," Louise snapped. "Why would I be jealous of her?"

"You don't have to get upset," Arthur replied. "I wasn't being serious. Anyway, Elizaveta's nice."

Louise was silent, staring at the crosswalk. "I just don't like her too much. Don't think ill of it. She's very attention seeking."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

"It's true. You know it's true."

Arthur felt the need to defend the Hungarian. "No, it isn't. You want to know something about Elizaveta? She's very helpful. Yeah, I've heard her curse like a sailor, but she has very good intentions. Why do you even care, anyway? She hasn't done anything to you, has she?"

"Please quit!" Louise exclaimed, raising her voice. "If you were a girl, maybe you'd get it!"

Arthur was growing more and more frustrated. "You're a real arse, you know that, right?"

"Stop talking!"

"You're the one who started it, Louise!"

Arthur knew Louise was about to reply, but they noticed Gilbert standing across the four-lane street. "Yeah, they're open!" he shouted. "Come on over, okay!"

Louise glared at Arthur and took off running toward Gilbert.

Gilbert's eyes widened in terror. "Louise—_STOP!"_

Arthur noticed it, too. A bus was hurtling straight for Louise, since she hadn't bothered to check for oncoming traffic or wait for the crosswalk or anything. In her last moments of life, Louise had been right in front of Arthur. He could have grabbed her, but he chose not to. Arthur was mad, yes, but he hadn't wanted Louise to die. If he had thought it through, he would have grabbed her; would have pulled her back to safety. But he only had one split second, and in that time frame, he could only think of how angry he was. Arthur regretted it so much. Felt so terrible about it.

There had been the sickening noise of the impact, tires screeching, the bus driver leaning on his horn—and in the moment of her death, Gilbert and Arthur made eye contact. Though the two friends were more than twenty feet away from each other, separated by the mist and the now-panicked traffic, Arthur knew that Gilbert knew... well, knew that Arthur could have saved Louise's life and that he didn't.

Arthur would never forget the way Gilbert had looked at him from across the street, the look of shocked disbelief and anger and horror.

They were never quite friends after that day.

**December 12th **

Arthur always thought about that incident. It had been haunting him since it happened. He could have saved her life. He didn't. What he would give to relive that day!

But the strangest thing was that he always wondered why he had defended Elizaveta so fiercely.

After more than two years, he finally figured out why. He showered, threw on his clothes for the Soirée, and picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Elizaveta's number. He called her without thinking about it, because he knew if he stopped to consider what he was doing, he'd never actually do it. She answered on the second ring. "Arthur! Hey!"

"Hey, where are you?"

"Um... I'm in the car. I just left Ivan's house. Long story."

Arthur shrugged. "Okay, well, I was wondering if I could pick you up a little earlier? Since it starts at six, I was thinking I'd maybe pick you up at five-ish?"

"Oh, sure, that'll give me forty-five minutes to get ready. Sounds good! But why?"

"W-well—" Arthur stammered. He could feel his face turning bright red, and he was glad he wasn't speaking with Elizaveta in person. "M-maybe we could—I thought we could, like, go to dinner or something?" the Brit mentally cursed himself. Had he really just said 'like'? He sounded like Feliks, that weird sophomore who was always wearing dresses and skipping around the halls, humming Polish songs.

Elizaveta actually laughed. "A true romantic, huh! Seriously, though, that sounds nice. See you soon!"

"Yeah, bye." Arthur hung up and sat back down on the edge of his bed, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew it sounded totally unrealistic and impossible. His cynic side and his romantic side were having a tug-of-war on his shoulders. His thoughts carried him away from reality like a boat from shore, and he pictured all the things he might say to Elizaveta while they were at dinner. Things... things like...

_"I'm sure you did nothing wrong. I swear to defend your honor forever."_


	15. Breakdown

_A/N: People commented on USUK in previous chapters. I hadn't really noticed, but I decided to put more in here. Kinda. Please review and enjoy!_

* * *

**December 12th**

Alfred was in the middle of getting dressed when his phone rang. He buttoned the sleeves of his shirt and picked it up off of his dresser. "Hey?"

"Alfred, I did something I shouldn't have..."

Alfred froze, trying to place the voice. "Arthur! Wait, wait. Dude, just tell me about Louise, then you can ramble on about whatever other issues you might have."

"No. Can't... Can't do that—" Arthur's voice sounded frantic.

"Okay, fine." Alfred sighed, placing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, and began to put on his tie. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I kind of—I asked Elizaveta to dinner. But that's not really... I mean, something else..."

Alfred laughed, but not meanly. "If you wanted love advice, you should have called Francis."

"Alfred, I'm seriously not—I'm at my wit's edge..."

The American paused. "You sound really upset. Seriously, Iggy? You asked a girl out and now you're having a meltdown? It's not even a big deal."

"Git! I didn't ask her out. T-that's not why I'm upset! I can't—" he muttered something incomprehensible.

"Arthur, I can't hear you. Talk louder," Alfred said, growing concerned. Arthur was acting very strangely. "You okay, man? Should I drive over?"

"No, don't."

"Okay, then! Tell me what's wrong!"

"That day between eighth and ninth grade, when Louise got hit by the bus—it was my fault. It was all my fault! We got into a fight. I never really liked her! She was being very, very rude to Elizaveta, so when she ran in the street, we saw the bus coming for her, and I could have grabbed her, but I didn't! I'm a terrible person. It's my fault. Don't tell me different, Alfred. I know what I did! That's the secret. I so wish I had done something different!" Arthur said it all in a rush, gasping for air when he was finished.

"Wait, wait," Alfred exclaimed, struggling to keep up. "You said 'we' saw the bus coming for her. Who's 'we'?"

"Gilbert and I saw," Arthur replied. "He knew I didn't save her."

"That's it," Alfred snapped. "I'm hanging up and driving over. I don't care what you say, Arthur."

"No! Don't come over. I'm leaving in a minute to pick up Elizaveta anyway, okay?"

Alfred shook his head, hung up, grabbed his jacket, and walked out to his car.

* * *

Alfred rang the doorbell, waiting anxiously. Arthur's mother, Alice Kirkland, answered. She saw Alfred and smiled. "Hello, Alfred. Arthur's upstairs, getting ready. Why don't you go up?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Kirkland," Alfred said, walking past her and up the stairs. Arthur's room was the third door down the upstairs hallway. It was closed. Alfred was about to knock when Peter, Arthur's eight-year-old brother, ran up to him. "Hey, Alfred!"

Alfred grinned. "Hello. What's up?"

Peter pointed at Arthur's door. "Arthur's upset. He's been in there for a while."

"Is he okay?" Alfred asked, worry turning to panic. He knew Arthur's bedroom had an attached bathroom, but he wouldn't dare do anything, would he? _Would he? _

The rock in Alfred's stomach eased when the door opened a crack, and one of Arthur's emerald eyes appeared. "I told you not to come over."

"Sorry," Alfred snorted. "It's not personal. Actually, it is. If I didn't care about you, do you think I woulda bothered dragging my ass over to see if you were okay or not?"

Arthur gave in, opening the door all the way. "Fine. Come in. Peter, get out of here."

Peter stuck his tongue out at his older brother. "Have fun at your stupid dance."

Arthur flicked Peter's forehead and shut the door again.

Alfred sat down on one of the plush armchairs in Arthur's room. The Kirkland family was extremely well-to-do. Something about lots of inherited money. Prestigious family line. Alfred couldn't remember, and frankly, he didn't care at that moment. He turned his attention to Arthur, who was perched on the edge of his neat bed. "So?"

"So?! I told you to stay at home."

"You didn't sound too good," Alfred insisted. "Should I call Francis? Matthew?"

"Why the bloody hell would you do that?!"

"No clue, but you're really freaking me out. Can you just calm down?"

Arthur looked puzzled. "You aren't mad?"

"Mad?" Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Why would I be _mad_?"

"About Louise. Don't you think I'm a terrible person?"

Alfred shrugged. "Isn't everyone in the Confidants' Club a terrible person?"

Arthur covered his face with his hands. "Matthew isn't," he said, his voice muffled by his palms. "You aren't."

"What?" Alfred's heart caught in his throat. "No, don't worry. It was an accident."

Arthur's head flew up and he stared at his friend with such fury and intensity that after a moment or two, Alfred looked away, focusing on the brick fireplace near the bed. "It wasn't an accident, Alfred—that's the point!" he snarled. "If it were an accident, Gilbert wouldn't be holding this against me, and I wouldn't be feeling so terribly guilty!"

"Arthur," Alfred gasped. He had never seen Arthur like this before. Louise's death and the secret were probably really bothering him. "D-does anyone else know?"

"No. You can't tell. If anyone finds out, it's over."

"You're being dramatic."

"Alfred. Don't you understand? Everyone else's secrets—oh, they're little things. I'm responsible for someone else's _death_!"

Alfred bit down on his tongue, frustrated. "Look, if anyone finds out about any of our secrets, it's not going to be fun. You're not the only one who's struggling here."

"You already confronted Natalia! I don't know who my secret-keeper is!" And then it happened. A tear spilled out of Arthur's eye. Alfred's own eyes widened. He had only seen Arthur cry once. (Back in seventh grade, they had gone sledding. Needless to say, disaster ensued, and Arthur ended up crashing. When he stood up, his arm was unnaturally bent; tears were streaming down his cheeks. Mrs. Kirkland had not been pleased.)

_Oh, Gilbert, _Alfred thought. _Why would you do this to us? _He walked over to Arthur and tried to comfort him. "It'll be okay," he said awkwardly. "Don't worry. Uh... don't cry, please? I'm sorry, I don't really know what to do... do you want some water or something?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Ah... um, do you—"

"Can you get my phone?" Arthur asked. "It's on the n-nightstand." He had gotten hiccups. "The password is 'mint'... c-can you call Elizaveta and tell her I won't be able to g-get her early? I just can't right now..."

Alfred did. Elizaveta sounded surprised that he was calling her from Arthur's phone, but didn't seem too upset by the cancelled plans. Alfred wondered if Elizaveta actually liked Arthur or if she just thought the dinner was supposed to be friendly, or maybe she was just totally oblivious to everything. Alfred knew it wasn't the appropriate time to ask, but after he disconnected the call with Elizaveta, he asked, "You like her?"

Arthur shrugged, his lip trembling. "I don't really know. I do. I think. But I don't... Alfred, I seriously just can't do this..."

Alfred stopped questioning him, because it was obvious he was having an emotional meltdown.

"You know what's weird?" Arthur asked, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I was totally fine before you came. I was happy, even. Then right before you called me, I just got really upset..."

"Uh, Arthur, you called _me..."_

"What? I did?" He sniffled. "I don't remember that... Am I losing my mind?"

Alfred handed him a tissue. He had no clue what to say, but he didn't like watching Arthur sitting there all dressed up in his suit and tie, crying his heart out. Without thinking, he grabbed Arthur and pulled him into a hug. Alfred was standing and Arthur was still sitting, so it was somewhat awkward, but a hug nonetheless.

"...Alfred?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes, his chin resting on Arthur's shoulder. "Shut up."

"Why aren't you mad?"

Alfred buried his face in his friend's shoulder. "Because you're my friend and I think it's okay that you made one mistake."

"I... I—"

"Everything is going to be okay."


	16. The Winter Soirée

_A/N: I've procrastinated the Soirée for so long, but it finally begins in this chapter—and so does major drama! Please enjoy and review!_

* * *

**December 12th **

The school's gymnasium was packed. The decoration crew had done a superb job of transforming the empty exercise area into a (excuse the cliché) winter wonderland. A row of long tables had been set up in the back of the gym, covered by an elegant white tablecloth and tons of light hors d'oeuvres. Snowflake garlands—a lot like the ones in the Café Italia—covered the walls, and the room was dark, the majority of the brightness in the gym coming from hanging lights.

"Wow," Elizaveta gasped, eyes wide. Arthur nodded in agreement. He was still feeling a bit shaky, but he had pulled himself together after Alfred left his house. In fact, Arthur spotted Alfred across the gym near the refreshments table, chatting with Kiku Honda and Mei Xiao. Alfred smiled and shot Arthur a thumbs-up, which made Arthur feel about a thousand times better.

"Sorry I couldn't make it to dinner," Arthur said to Elizaveta. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," Elizaveta replied cheerfully, but didn't ask for further explanations. Arthur was grateful for that.

"Let's go talk to people," Arthur suggested.

"Okay! How about..." Elizaveta glanced around the room, searching for their friends, and frowned. "Wait..."

"What's the matter?" Arthur asked.

"I'll be right back," Elizaveta said, eyes narrow. "Can you wait here for just a second?"

Ignoring his curiosity, Arthur forced a nod. "Sure."

Elizaveta hurried across the gym, moving around people and repeating "Excuse me" until she found who she was looking for.

"Anya? What are you doing here?!" Elizaveta exclaimed, speaking loudly over the music.

The Russian girl turned and smiled. "Oh, hello, Elizaveta! Are you looking for Ivan?"

"N-no—" Elizaveta faltered. "I mean, why are you here? Aren't you too old for silly high school dances?"

"Ivan told me to come with him! We had to pay a little extra to get my ticket, because, you know, I do not go to this school, but it's fine!" Anya stopped and looked closely at Elizaveta. Elizaveta felt self-conscious—Anya was much taller than her, and looked somewhat intimidating, even though she was pretty and nice. "Elizaveta, are you sure we haven't met before?"

And suddenly it hit Elizaveta. Hard. She did know Anya. She _did._

And not in a good way. She remembered. She remembered everything.

"Okay, yes, we have met," Elizaveta relented, suddenly exhausted. "But please don't tell anyone you know me. Or how you know me. Please?"

Anya looked concerned. "I won't, but is everything all right—"

"Where's Ivan? I need to verify something."

"I'm not sure..." Anya trailed off and Elizaveta dashed away, not even bothering to say goodbye.

This was looking very, very bad. Elizaveta spotted Ivan near the front of the gym, dancing with Anastasia, another girl in their grade, and started walking toward him when she was intercepted by Michelle and Francis. Elizaveta really hadn't been that surprised when Francis asked Michelle to the dance, but she didn't want to talk to either of them that moment.

"_Bonsoir_, Elizaveta!" Francis said, beaming, but Elizaveta looked in his eyes and could tell it was somewhat forced. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Elizaveta said quickly. "I have to talk to someone, okay?"

"What's the matter?" Michelle asked, but Elizaveta ignored her and continued walking to Ivan. She reached up and tapped him on the shoulder, and he stopped dancing for a moment to look at her. "_Da_?"

Anastasia grinned. "Hello! Are you enjoying the dance? You came with Arthur, right?"

"I'm sorry, Anastasia, but can I talk to Ivan for just a moment? Alone? Don't worry, I'm not trying to steal your date!" Elizaveta joked lamely. Thankfully, Anastasia just smiled, nodded, and walked away, giving them space.

"What's wrong?" Ivan inquired.

"Why is Anya here?"

A shadow crossed Ivan's face. "I couldn't leave her home alone, and she especially can't be there when my father gets home. She doesn't know about his... condition."

"Ivan," Elizaveta said suddenly, "I know you father is... is an alcoholic, but do _you_ drink?"

"Sometimes." Ivan's voice was challenging and defensive. "I don't think we should discuss that here, though. We don't want to ruin a fun party, right?"

"What do you drink?" she pressed.

"Vodka."

"What _kind_?"

"Elizaveta, why do you even care?" Ivan snapped. "It is not really your concern."

"Absolut?" Elizaveta insisted, growing anxious. She had to know—_had to_—but didn't want to anger Ivan, because that could be potentially _dangerous. _

"I. Do. Not. Like. Absolut," Ivan spat through gritted teeth. He was obviously starting to lose his temper, but Elizaveta kept pushing.

"Does your family drink Absolut?"

"No."

"Never?"

"_Never._"

"So you've never been in possession of a bottle of Absolut?"

Ivan started to say 'no' the paused, considering the question. "I had a bottle of it once. I didn't drink it. I gave it away," he said slowly. "Again, why?"

"Where did you get the bottle of vodka from?" Elizaveta asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Anya. She came to America over the summer, and she gave me a bottle of Absolut while we were at a party. She said she got it for me, but I don't like Absolut, so as I've said, I gave it away. I gave it to Gilbert, because he was also at the party."

"You... you gave it to _Gilbert_?"

"That's what I just said," retorted Ivan.

This confirmed what Elizaveta already knew.

"Ivan, remember the last line on the suicide note Gilbert wrote to you? '_Where do you buy your vodka_?'"

"Yes." Ivan was thoroughly intrigued.

"Well, how do I explain this, exactly... Do you know what my secret is? No? Well, when I was a freshman, my family was in a really bad situation. My dad lost his job, and we were really struggling. But, I know, it's probably nothing you haven't heard before. Anyways, my Katalin Néni is an—"

"Sorry," Ivan interrupted. "Katalin Néni?"

"My, ah, Aunt Katalin," Elizaveta explained. "Sorry, I'm used to speaking Hungarian when I'm with her. Anyway, she's an alcoholic. She lives close by, so I used to go over and visit her. She always left her alcoholic drinks sitting around. Her favorite was Absolut Vodka. Every time I went over to her house—and mind you, that was maybe once a week!—I'd take a bottle of beer here, a bit of vodka there... you follow me?"

Ivan nodded slowly. "Did you drink it?"

"Of course not!" Elizaveta laughed bitterly. "Because that wouldn't make for a very interesting secret, would it? No, I sold it—for lots of money. To help my parents with all the bills. They didn't know how I was getting the money. I lied and told them I had a job. It was a job, honestly—I had to make sure no one ever told about what I was doing, because I might have gotten arrested. But I had to help my parents!"

"Okay, okay," Ivan said. "It's okay. Calm down. Finish the story."

"I told Gilbert about it earlier this year. In, like, February, because he was at my house and found a bunch of alcoholic drinks in my bathroom. So I confessed to him that I sold them illegally. Well, illegally in the United States, I suppose."

"How does this matter to him, though?"

"Well, remember the last time your cousin visited the United States? It was this past July, wasn't it? I met her at a party. The one you were talking about. But at that time, I honestly didn't know she was your cousin. I had a bottle of Absolut with me, because I had just visited Katalin, and I thought maybe it would be fun to bring to a party, y'know? She offered me fifteen dollars for it. And by then, my parents were in a stable financial condition, so, I mean, why not? But now I know that she just bought the vodka so she could give it to you, and since you don't like Absolut, you gave it to Gilbert. Which makes me wonder..."

"What did Gilbert do with it?" finished Ivan. "And how does it tie in with his death?"


	17. Unfair Blame

_A/N: Ugh, school started recently, and I'm swamped with work and activities. Updates are probably going to start coming a lot slower for all of my stories, but at least I have an excuse. And I'll try to update as frequently as possible. If you've stuck with me this far, thank you!_

* * *

**December 12th **

"So, are you having fun?"

Arthur jumped in surprise. He had been so focused on waiting for Elizaveta he hadn't noticed Alfred walking up beside him. But, then again, the gym was pretty loud.

"Eh." Arthur shrugged. "I guess so. I don't know where Elizaveta went, though."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "She's over there, talking to Ivan. Great, right?"

"What, are you two still arguing?" Arthur asked, though of course he knew the answer to that question. Surprisingly, Alfred just said, "He's entitled to his own opinion. Hey, have you seen Matthew around?"

"Matthew? No, why?"

Alfred shrugged again. "I don't know. Just wondering. He said he was going to try to look for his secret-keeper, since he didn't have a date."

"Right. What was his secret anyway? Rejecting Gilbert? Because that isn't so horrendous. It just shows that he's straight, which is hardly a secret. It's more like an expectation, really."

Alfred waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, his secret isn't bad at all, not compared to ours. I guess Gilbert went easy on Matthew because he liked him? At any rate, Matthew told me his secret was basically just how, you know, Matthew rejected Gilbert. But Gilbert was also angry with Matthew because he didn't want to like guys."

"But that isn't Matthew's fault," Arthur protested. "I mean, I don't think Matthew would—or could—change someone's orientation..."

Alfred snorted. "Believe me, I know. But Gilbert seems to be content with taking no responsibility for anything. Stupid, really. I don't get why he never told me anything, even when I told him _everything_."

"Yeah, I understand," Arthur replied. "Hey, here comes Elizaveta. See you later, Alfred."

* * *

"Something was off there," Francis remarked. If he hadn't already asked Michelle, he wouldn't have gone to the dance at all. He was tired and just wanted to sleep for a little while. He missed Gilbert, but was also furious with the unnecessary spite and selfishness.

Michelle ran a hand through her dark hair. "Hmm?"

"With Elizaveta," Francis said.

"Definitely," Michelle agreed, thinking of her best friend's strange behavior. "I wonder what's up with her..."

* * *

"Ow! Watch where you're going."

"Sorry," Lukas said flatly. He had accidentally stepped on Natalia Arlovskaya's foot, but did she honestly have to be such a psycho bitch about it? Eh, Lukas thought, she was a psycho bitch about everything, so perhaps it didn't really matter. He stopped for a moment and looked back at her. She didn't look very happy—she was staring at Ivan, who was across the gym, dancing with Anastasia—and a sad, lonely look filled her eyes.

"Want to dance?" Lukas asked, sympathy getting the better of him.

Natalia looked at him. Her response was endearing: "_Me_?"

"Yes. You."

She smiled but did her best to hide it. "O-okay. But just remember, it doesn't mean I like you! My heart belongs to—"

Lukas had to hide a laugh. "Ivan. I know. Everybody knows. All right, well, I'm not so fond of you, either."

Natalia did smile then. "Fine, we can dance."

As they were dancing, Lukas decided it couldn't hurt to poke around. "So, do you know my stepbrother?"

"Emil, right? Freshman?"

"Yes. He's friends with Ivan, I think." That was a lie, but Lukas knew for a fact that Ivan preferred Emil to any of the other freshmen.

"Oh, is that so?" Natalia sounded slightly interested.

"Yes. He and Ivan and Arthur and Mathias..." Lukas was hoping to provoke some sort of reaction from Natalia, but he didn't get one. When the song was finished, he let go of her, wished her a nice evening, and walked away, heading to the restrooms. _Hmm... _

Meanwhile, Elizaveta and Arthur excused themselves from the dance floor to head to the refreshments table. It was against his better judgment, but Arthur felt the need to tell someone what Alfred had just said, and Elizaveta seemed like a good choice. The only thing that made Arthur uneasy was how distant Elizaveta was being. Yeah, he knew she was somewhat of an introvert, but there was a certain frigidness in her eyes that not even the flame of her smile could melt.

At any rate, Arthur helped himself to a glass of punch and decided to go ahead and ask. "Have you seen Matthew?"

Elizaveta picked up a chocolate-dipped strawberry. "Matthew? No. Why?"

"Do you know what his secret is?"

"Huh?" Elizaveta looked at Arthur. "I don't."

"You know how Gilbert was gay?"

Arthur very sorely regretted asking that question. The iciness in Elizaveta's eyes cracked, and tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset." Arthur chided himself for being so stupid.

"N-no, it's okay." Elizaveta's lip trembled. "Go on. Matthew?"

Arthur regained composure. "Right. Gilbert... liked Matthew, I guess. But Matthew rejected him. Alfred told me, but I don't remember exactly what he was saying. I just—maybe it's stupid, but I just wanted to tell you."

Elizaveta frowned. "Tell me? Why?"

"I... just because," Arthur said lamely.

"It should have been me," she whispered, so quietly Arthur could barely hear her over the pounding of music.

"What?"

"It should have been me," Elizaveta repeated, a bit louder. "Gilbert should have fallen in love with me."

Arthur forced a laugh. "But if you and Gilbert were together, we wouldn't have gone to the Soirée together."

Elizaveta shot him a quizzical look. "We're just friends, Arthur. We didn't even know each other before the Confidants' Club, so if Gilbert were still alive, you wouldn't have wanted to go with me—wouldn't have even really known me."

"That's not true!"

"Oh, really? Which part isn't true?" Elizaveta smiled, amused. "Arthur, are you trying to say what I think you're trying to say?"

"I don't know..." The conversation was so confusing Arthur could barely keep up. "But what you're saying—did you love Gilbert?"

Elizaveta looked Arthur in the eye. "I did. If he had asked me, I wouldn't have rejected him. He could have had me. We were best friends for so long. I would have done everything possible for him! But, Arthur, understand this: we were always friends, but it was never me. He never loved me back. It was always Matthew, like you said. Or Louise." Her voice wasn't sarcastic. Just tired.

"Louise?" Arthur exclaimed, and it occurred to him that the only person who knew his secret besides his secret-keeper was Alfred. He bit his tongue.

"Yes. Weren't you close with them both? Didn't you know that they liked each other?"

"I... I wasn't very close with Louise," Arthur admitted guiltily. Elizaveta would never really understand just how much, though. He couldn't get over what he was hearing. Elizaveta loved _Gilbert? _But Gilbert had liked Louise. But no, Gilbert had been gay, hadn't he? Hadn't that been why he was mad at Matthew? _What the hell_...?

"Arthur, why do you look like you're in extreme pain?" Elizaveta asked softly.

"Well, love, I think you know..."

"But I don't believe you actually lo—"

"I'm going home," Arthur interrupted. He knew he was being rude, and he knew he'd regret it later, or at least feel bad about it. But he just couldn't stand it. It was not how he had wanted the day to go. Revealing his secret about Louise. Crying his face off while Alfred comforted him. And now this. Arthur wasn't even sure if he actually liked Elizaveta. Maybe he had misinterpreted his feelings. After all, how could he like someone who was being so bloody _inconsiderate?_

But at the same time, he knew Elizaveta was going through hell, too. They all were.

"Arthur, wait," Elizaveta called; Arthur knew she was crying.

He didn't look back.


	18. How to Save a Life

_A/N: School is taking its toll on me! Anyway, thanks for reading. Love you all! And this is a long chapter, sorry, but I just had to put everything in._

* * *

**December 12th**

As Arthur was scrambling for the exit, he ran smack into Francis. Arthur must have looked terrible, because Francis frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going home," Arthur said. "This isn't working."

"_M-mais_... where's Elizaveta?" Francis asked.

Arthur shrugged. "She didn't want to come along with me anyway. Not really. We're friends."

Francis nodded. "I see. So that's great! You didn't want to come with her, either, did you? If I recall, you said to her, 'I'll take you to the Soirée if you shut up,' _oui_?"

"Ha-ha, right!"

"No, not right," Francis snapped. "I'm not an idiot, Arthur. You cannot fool me when it comes to _amour_. I can see you're actually really upset. What did she say?"

"If you must know..."

* * *

As Lukas was exiting the restroom down the hall from the gym, he saw Mathias walking to the water fountain a few feet away. Squinting against the white fluorescent lights—the sun had set outside, and the hallways were too bright—Lukas headed over and tapped the blond's shoulder.

Mathias jumped. "Lukas! Yeah?"

"How is Arthur? What about Ivan?"

"_Huh_?"

Lukas rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about, Mathias. Don't you?"

Mathias looked at the shiny tile floor. "Okay. You win. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is this about the Café Italia incident on Monday?"

"You've got some kind of Gilbert-Club or something, don't you? You and your friends."

"Well, okay, uh, first thing, it's not a Gilbert-Club. Don't be ridiculous." Mathias waved his hand. "Secondly, we aren't all friends."

"Then what is it? Emil's involved, isn't he?"

Mathias drummed his fingers against the water fountain. The hallway was empty and silent, but faint strains of music could be heard drifting from down the gym. "How do you even know about this?"

Lukas shrugged. "I do a lot of guessing. And usually things end up more or less right."

"Don't you want to be a scientist or something when you grow up?"

Lukas' eyes widened. "Y-you remembered?"

"I—" Mathias turned away, embarrassed. He and Lukas had been childhood friends, spending days at a time at each other's houses, but after seventh grade—the year Lukas' parents announced their divorce—they stopped hanging out. It had been Lukas' choice, really. He had ignored all of Mathias' calls and attempts at starting conversations, and eventually, the two grew so far apart that it was pathetic trying to find something in common.

"Look, Mathias... well, I know I've been shifting through your business a lot. I'm still not sure what all this Gilbert talk is about, only that a large number of people seem to be involved. And I'm not going to ask, because honestly, I don't think you'd tell me."

Mathias started to argue, but Lukas cut him off. "Mathias. I just wanted to say that you can trust me. I know we aren't best friends anymore. And we probably won't be best friends again. But I'm not going to tell anyone about anything I hear, all right? And if you need help, I'll try to help you."

"Lukas..." Mathias grinned. "_Tak_."

But back in the noisy gymnasium, things were anything but peaceful.

"Fucking touch me and I'll rip your bastard head off!"

Francis jolted away from Lovino Vargas. He had been getting some snacks for Michelle, and so what if Lovino had been standing there and they just happened to run into each other?

"Look, I know you hate me, but you don't have to be so blatant about it."

Lovino glared at the wall. "Well, _fuck you_!"

"_Merde_! Why can't you be kindly like Feliciano? You're so hateful."

"Says you."

"Yes, I do say so," Francis snapped, reaching the edge of his patience. "If you'll excuse me, I need to bring these grapes to Michelle."

"Poor Michelle," hissed Lovino. "Does she know?"

"Know what?"

"That her date is fucking _contaminated_."

Francis stood there next to the refreshments table, staring at his plate of food as Lovino walked away.

This was not going to end well.

* * *

Sparkling.

That was the word adults always used when they described Arthur's eyes, especially when was younger. _Sparkling green eyes. Sparkling, emerald-green eyes. _

But as Arthur stared at his reflection in the mirror, he knew that his eyes didn't sparkle anymore. His eyes looked tired. So did his face in general. After Arthur had repeated his whole sob story to Francis (about Elizaveta, at least, because he knew if he mentioned Louise, he'd really get too worked up), he told his friend to tell Elizaveta that he was going home. It was extremely impolite, but he didn't have the energy to care.

However, before he could flee the school in absolute surrender, Arthur had to stop in the restroom, which was empty. But as the Brit splashed cool water on his face and started at his no-longer-sparkling eyes, the door swung open.

Yao Wang, a senior, walked in and paused. "Oh, hey, you're Arthur, aren't you?"

Arthur wiped the water off his face. "Yes."

"You came here with a girl named Liz or something, right?"

Worry fluttered in Arthur's chest. "I did."

"Well, I was in the gym a few minutes ago, and she was screaming at someone, _aru_. He was another junior, but I don't know him. I'm not sure if Liz is drunk, maybe, but she's making a fool of herself. When you're finished in here, you might want to check on her."

"Oh, God. All right. Thanks, Yao." Arthur hurried out of the bathroom. He took a deep breath before setting off down the hallway. He could do it. He could get Elizaveta to stop yelling at whoever—it would only take a second or two. He could keep his composure for a few more minutes, and then he would leave. Though he'd still have to study for finals that were coming next week, he'd have the weekend to recollect himself.

The gym was still packed, still filled with pounding bass and dim lighting, but a group of people had gathered near the middle of the room, and deranged shouting could be heard over the thumping of the music.

As Arthur approached the group, which was obviously surrounding something, a few of his classmates looked at him and stepped out of the way.

Elizaveta was indeed screaming at someone. Her mascara was smeared, and her hair was in disarray. She was yelling at Matthew. "This is your fault!"

Arthur gasped. _What the hell_?

Matthew seemed to be defending himself fiercely—or, at least, fiercely for the Canadian. "No, it isn't! Please, calm down! Stop it, Elizaveta!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Stop!" Arthur exclaimed, shoving himself between Elizaveta and Matthew. He knew he had to break things up, because he liked—no, because he knew Elizaveta was going through a hard time—and because Matthew was his friend. "What are you two doing?!"

Arthur looked at Elizaveta. He recognized the emotion in her eyes—(misguided) hate, anger, and jealousy. They held gazes for a split second, then Elizaveta shouldered her way through the crowd, sobs racking her body.

Michelle ran up to Arthur as the crowd began to thin. She shoved something cold and metal into his hands, and he stared at her, confused. "What?"

"Look. No time to explain, but something's wrong with Elizaveta. Very wrong. I'm sure you know that, though. Mei and I are going to pick up the pieces. Don't worry about that. But I need a favor."

"Wh-what?" Everything was happening too quickly.

"Those are Francis' car keys. He parked across the street. Drive Elizaveta home—she ran outside. I'm calling her mother."

"I can take her home in my own car—"

"Do it!" Michelle demanded, and Arthur realized that Michelle and Mei were probably at their limit, trying to deal with Elizaveta's erratic behavior.

"But Francis took you to the dance—how will you get home?"

"I'll figure it out, Arthur. Go, before she leaves the school property!"

Arthur nodded and jogged to the exit of the school. He flinched as the snow buffeted his face and the cold stung his lungs, but he crossed the street to where Francis' car was parked. _Dammit, Francis. Couldn't you have just parked in the school parking lot?_

Across the street, Arthur could see Elizaveta, illuminated by a streetlamp, her breath a solid white cloud. Arthur concluded that she must have exited the gymnasium and the God-awful Soirée to come outside. Matthew was trailing behind her, his eyes furious. It looked like he was just about to shout at Elizaveta again.

"Elizaveta! Matthew!" Arthur yelled, waving his arms. They glanced in his direction and Elizaveta jumped in surprise.

"I'll head right over, okay?" Arthur was just about to situate himself in Francis' car when he saw Elizaveta drifting slowly across the street, moving at a dreamlike pace. Even with the streetlight, it was dark and snowy and treacherous; Arthur noticed immediately when two bright beams—headlights—sliced through the black night.

"Wait, Elizaveta!" Arthur screeched. The car was growing closer, louder—in a split second, across the empty, icy expanse of asphalt, Arthur and Matthew made eye contact. Matthew still looked agitated, and Arthur was mentally begging Matthew to do something. _Anything. _

In that instant, Arthur realized what was happening. He was too far away to grab Elizaveta. Way too far. And from the way she was standing—frozen in confusion—it was obvious that if she didn't move, the car was going to crash into her. This left Matthew. Matthew was only a few feet away from her, still standing on the sidewalk, still safe.

If he chose to do so, Matthew could reach out, grab her, and yank her back to safety.

It was just like what had happened on that horrific day of June 4th—except this time, it was one of Arthur's loved ones in danger, and Matthew, the last hope, was angry with her. And if she died, Arthur was going to have to watch, helpless. He had sudden sympathy and compassion for Gilbert.

Just before the car was about to collide with Elizaveta, Arthur had the time to think one last thought:

_Please, Matthew, forget your anger and be a better person than I was all those years ago..._


	19. The Love Crimes

_A/N: The nineteenth chapter already? Also, I realized last until the previous chapter, I hadn't included China at all. He'll appear again, probably. Maybe._

* * *

**December 12th **

Arthur could only watch hysterically as the scene in front of him unfolded. There was that familiar noise of tires skidding across pavement, but this time, the snow made everything perilous, and the car jolted its trajectory. Arthur shut his eyes, bracing himself for the nauseating noise of metal crushing bone, his hands over his ears.

But the noise didn't happen. And it didn't.

And it still didn't.

Arthur experimentally removed a hand from his right ear, slowly at first, but when he realized the car was gone, speeding away like a silver bullet, his eyes jerked open and his hands fell to his sides.

He looked across the wide, ominous road, terrified, until he saw two people—in shock but very much alive—standing under the light of the streetlamp, clinging to each other.

Arthur felt the tension in his muscles relax, and tears began dripping down his face. But it was okay.

Matthew had pulled Elizaveta to safety.

Relieved, giddy, and regretful for things he hadn't done in the past, Arthur threw up on the icy sidewalk, hiccupping loudly in a combination of laughter and sobs before running over to join Elizaveta and Matthew.

**December 13th**

"Elizaveta... Liz, wake up..."

Elizaveta groaned and opened her eyes slowly. She looked around. She was in her neat, Pinterest-worthy room. In her bed. Outside, rain was streaming down from the clouds, turning the previously-fallen snow to gray slush. Mei and Michelle were sitting next to her bed in chairs they had pulled upstairs from the kitchen.

"What happened?" Elizaveta asked, sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

"Relax," Mei said soothingly. "Everything's all right. I made some green tea. Drink up."

Elizaveta accepted a mug into her hands and took a sip. "When did I get home? It's Saturday, right?"

Michelle nodded. "Yes. Saturday morning. Arthur drove you home. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Elizaveta said. "What happened, though? I just remember..." She frowned. "Actually, I don't really remember that much."

Michelle and Mei looked at each other quickly. Mei waved a hand. "That's okay," she assured her friend. "But you really don't remember anything?"

"I remember showing up for the Soirée. Not much else, though. I don't know why I'm so forgetful. Well, maybe I... I don't know."

Michelle leaned back in her chair. "Maybe it's a medical condition?"

Elizaveta shrugged. "Don't know. But really, what happened? Tell me. Don't be afraid to hold back. And the way you two are looking at me, something makes me think you both have a lot to say."

Mei and Michelle looked at each other again, and then Mei began talking, explaining everything based on what she had seen and what Arthur had told her.

Only then did Elizaveta cry, staring out the window at the dark, stormy sky. Though she was still angry with Gilbert, she was beginning to understand his logic.

She fantasized about how easy it would be to fall asleep and never wake up. She fantasized about how easy it would be to die.

* * *

"No, no, the other side of the equation goes _here... _Francis, are you even listening?" Antonio snapped his fingers in front of his friend's face. "Come on, we have to study now or else we're going to fail the exam!"

Francis nodded. "Sorry." Francis and Antonio were at the Bonnefoys', cramming for their final exams just like they did every year. But Gilbert had always been there to study with them. (The 'Bad Touch Trio,' so they had been called.) Gilbert's best subject was math, and without him, Francis and Antonio were having an exceedingly difficult time tackling the intense pre-calc study guides.

"What's gotten into you, _mi amigo_?" Antonio asked, grabbing some cheese and crackers from a plate on the table. "You're usually so studious. I thought you said you were feeling better after Matthew talked to you during lunch yesterday—"

"Something's bothering me," Francis admitted. "Something that happened at the Soirée."

"Oh, is this what happened with Matthew and Elizaveta?" Antonio asked. "I heard that she really cussed him out. Thankfully, Matthew said she was pretty vague, so no one really knew she was screaming about Gilbert."

"Actually, it's about something that Lovino Vargas said."

"What? Lovi?"

"I think he's my secret-keeper."

"Really? How did you find out?"

"He tipped me off yesterday. Maybe it was on accident."

Antonio took another cracker. "That's strange. Are you going to confront him?"

"I should," Francis said suddenly, standing up. "You can come with me."

Antonio rose from his chair. "Now? B-but we aren't finished studying! And you can't just... I mean, Francis!"

Francis looked at his friend curiously. "Why don't you want to go? You're close with the Vargases. It's fine to just go over if they're home."

Antonio realized he hadn't told Francis that he had been bothering Feliciano about Gilbert. "No reason," he lied. "Let's go."

* * *

Francis stood on the doorstep of the Vargas household, closing his umbrella and setting it against the side of the house. The storm had only gotten worse; periodic thunder kept shaking the town. Francis rang the doorbell.

Lovino's house was very nice. It was a style that Francis knew Alfred called a 'five-four-and-a-door.' Francis had never been to Lovino's, but Antonio had several times, so the Spaniard gave him directions but hadn't wanted to come along. Francis didn't mind. It was fine.

The door opened and Feliciano answered. "Hello, Francis! What are you doing here?"

From inside the house, Francis could hear Lovino roar, "Francis is here? _Fratello,_ lock the doors!"

Feliciano cheerfully ignored his brother. "Why don't you come inside?"

"_Che palle_! Feliciano, don't you _DARE_—"

"Lovino, I need to speak with you," Francis interrupted.

"Sorry, you aren't allowed inside our house," snapped Lovino. Feliciano had already lost interest and drifted down the hallway to the kitchen, where Francis could smell him cooking pasta for lunch.

"And why is that?" Francis questioned. He knew the answer, but he just wanted to hear Lovino admit he was a secret-keeper.

"I don't approve of you," snarled Lovino.

"But _why_?" Francis' eyes rested on a small crucifix mounted on the wall of the entryway. Oh my God.

The Vargases were Catholics, weren't they? Was _that _why Lovino hated Francis so much?

"Because... because you did—I mean, things! You're... you're..." Lovino's voice dropped to a whisper. "You're going to hell, Francis Bonnefoy, you know that, right?"

Feliciano poked his head through the doorway. "What's going on?"

Lovino groaned in frustration and ran upstairs in a fit of apparent anger.

"Don't avoid the problem!" Francis called, but the Italian appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later with a piece of paper in his hands. The letter! Lovino trudged down the stairs, shoved the envelope into Francis' hands, and nearly kicked him out the door into the rain. Francis grabbed his umbrella and made a mad dash for the car (he had borrowed it from his mother), which was sitting in the driveway.

_Well, that was fairly easy... for Lovino, I guess. _

Francis' hands trembled as he tore open the envelope.

_Bonjour, Francis. Of course I have no clue if you're working with the other seven people, or if you even know for sure who they are. And I definitely don't know whose letters you've already received or whose secrets you've already dug up_—_maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. I'm not going to get too specific, because I don't want to reveal the other's secrets in this letter, but you, Alfred, and Matthew all have secrets I call the 'Love Crimes.' _

_Now, listen. I can't say I'm surprised_—_I mean, you ARE the love expert guy, and you and Antonio and I DID try to do that matchmaking service sophomore year_—_but that's beside the point. I don't know if this secret is your fault or my fault. I say we accept equal blame for what happened. That sounds good, right? But let's make a resolve: Never touch vodka again! (Unless you and Ivan want to have drinking parties or something together in the future? Know I'll be frowning at you in ghost form!) _

_Sorry, sorry. I know I should be more serious. Francis, you were a good friend, really. But after the things that happened over the summer... Well, it would just be too awkward to hang out. I didn't like losing you. Or my reputation, possibly. Which would be worse, do you think? Again: whose fault was this secret? Don't roll your eyes. Talk it out_—_En français, s'il vous plaît! Oh, wait_—_I don't speak French! _

_(P.S. I know Lovino doesn't seem like a trustworthy person_—_especially for you_—_but rest assured: If you're reading this letter, his lips are sealed.) _

_-Gilbert Beilschmidt _

Francis hated the note. He hated how light-hearted and friendly it was. Gilbert had written it like they were pen pals who hadn't spoken in a while, not like it was a last letter!

Everything about the note bothered him, really. The Love Crimes? Really? Okay, he could definitely see how Matthew's secret got that title, and maybe Alfred's. Maybe. But his? What Francis had done was not love! Anything but love.

Before pulling out of the Lovino's driveway, Francis whipped his phone out of the car's console and scrolled through his contacts, holding the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked. "Arthur? How are you...? Oh, you're doing okay now? Great. Do you mind meeting me at the Café Italia in, oh, fifteen minutes? I need to talk to you..."


	20. Mistake After Mistake

_A/N: This was refreshing because Gilbert's one of my favorite characters, and since he's dead in this story, I can't write about him like I can with the others. Enjoy! (Before you jump to conclusions about this chapter or past events—well, keep in mind, we're far from done here...)_

* * *

**July 12th, ****_earlier in the present year _**

Music. Alcohol. Drugs.

Though Gilbert liked two of the things listed above—I'll leave it to you to decide which ones, though—he wasn't having any fun at Vladimir Lupei's crazy summer house party. Gilbert frowned and gripped his can of half-empty beer as the not-so-sober crowd massed around him, shouting and singing in drunk, off-pitch notes to the loud music blasting from speakers everywhere in the house.

Gilbert took his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. 10:20 PM. _Ugh._

Antonio walked out of the crowd for a moment to stand next to Gilbert, who had taken refuge in a quieter hallway of the Romanian host's giant home. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," Gilbert sighed. "You forced me to come to this dumb party, remember?"

Antonio laughed. "Come on, Gil! Cheer up. We're at a party. Everyone from school is here. Talk to your friends! Chat with some girls! Quit looking so gloomy!" Antonio gave his sullen friend a giant smile and darted back down the hall into the heart of the party.

Gilbert sighed. He wandered down the hallway. Strings of white Christmas lights filled the dark hallways, giving the place a friendly atmosphere. Gilbert passed closed doors and bathrooms until he found a more serene—but not empty—spacious yet cozy room with a blazing fireplace, dim lighting, and more Christmas strings hanging on the wall. A sign that read 'Quiet Room' hung on the door.

Elizaveta was sitting on a couch facing the fireplace, flames illuminating her silhouette. She turned and smiled. "Hey, Gilbert! Over here."

Gilbert grinned in relief. This seemed to be the classy, laid-back room. "Hey, Liz. What's up?"

"Kiku went to the restroom, but he's showing me how to make paper cranes. Isn't that cool? So, what've you been doing? How's the party?" Elizaveta asked.

"Good," Gilbert lied. "I'm surprised you showed up. You hate Vladimir, don't you?"

"Of course I do. But like I'd turn down a party." She looked at the coffee table where her cranes were resting. "Can you get me another beer?"

"I just sat down! Beer's all the way in the front of this freaking mansion."

"_Pleeease_?" Elizaveta begged. "I don't want to get up! I'm so cozy by this fire. I'll be your best friend forever!"

"Bitch. We're already best friends forever," Gilbert said sarcastically, but he meant it.

"If you were really my best friend, you'd get me that beer," Elizaveta said. Gilbert gave in, snorted, and stood up. "Dammit, fine. I'll be back in a few minutes, then."

"_Danke,_ Gil!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes dramatically and headed to the entryway where Vladimir had his vast stock of beverages. He ran into someone and was shoved against the wall. "Ow. Sorry—Ivan? Oh, _wonderful_."

"Hello."

"If you're gonna give me a bloody nose or a black eye, do it outside, okay? Or, better yet—I saw Toris here somewhere. Why don't you go pick on him?"

"Actually, I'm not here to hurt you." Ivan glanced around. "Take this." He shoved a bottle into Gilbert's hands.

"Vodka? What the heck did you do to this? Fill it with iodine? No, thanks." Gilbert tried to hand the glass back, but Ivan sneered.

"It's not poisoned, dumbass. I don't like the brand. Anya—I mean, someone gave it to me, and since they went through some trouble just for that, it'd have been rude to decline. Look, why don't you take it, and I'll let you enjoy the rest of your night?" Ivan offered. "You don't even have to drink it. I just want it off my hands."

"Uh... okay," Gilbert said hesitantly, then turned and walked briskly down the hallway. Ivan scared him to hell and back. He grabbed Elizaveta's beer and a second one for himself, drank it without thinking, and got a third. Then he headed back to the Quiet Room. He already had a lot to drink; his vision was getting a little blurry. All those Christmas lights were spinning around, and he stumbled a bit, accidentally careening into two people before he got back Elizaveta.

Gilbert gave the beer to Elizaveta and wished her a good night. He was getting ready to leave—at that point, it was almost eleven, and he was bored out of his mind—but as he was walking aimlessly around the party, Francis ran (read: staggered) up to him, laughing, a cup of wine in his hand. "_S-s_-hic-_sault_!"

Gilbert laid a hand on Francis' shoulder. "Steady." But Gilbert found himself dizzy, too, which made him laugh until his stomach hurt.

"Oh, you brought vodka? _Oui_! Shots! Shots!"

Instantly, Gilbert knew Francis was extremely wasted. Francis always claimed how vodka burned his throat, and he said shots were distasteful. He also thought getting too drunk in public was unattractive. But Gilbert was suddenly having fun. And so was Francis. So why not? "Sure, shots," Gilbert laughed, opening the bottle. _Thanks, Ivan. _

The silver-haired teen threw back a shot. He hated vodka, but a bolt of energy flashed through him. "Where's Toni?" he slurred.

"He left," Francis replied unclearly, taking another gulp from the bottle. "He was sober."

"Ha, I'm not!"

"Oh, I know. But this is the joy of summer parties! I've got nowhere to be!" Francis cheered uncharacteristically. Thankfully, everyone was too caught up in their own drinking to notice the two friends.

"Well, then!" Gilbert laughed. "Let's party!"

* * *

Gilbert woke up with a pounding headache. He didn't bother to process details—he immediately noticed the attached bathroom. Gilbert stumbled through the door to the toilet and emptied his stomach. He washed his face and found some mouthwash in the bathroom cabinet. Cleaning up made him feel a bit better.

It took him a while to realize that someone was standing there, watching him.

"V-Vladimir? What happened?"

The Romanian looked concerned. "I don't know. I thought everyone left after last night, but I was checking all the rooms, and you were passed out in here."

"Ugh... What time is it?"

"Ten in the morning."

"Shit! My parents are gonna kill me."

"No worries. As soon as I found you—which was around seven—I called your parents and told them you spent the night here. They don't know I threw a party, remember?"

"You covered for me?" Gilbert smiled.

"Hey, I've got to be a responsible party host. Well, you're the last person here, so feel free to head out whenever you want. I've got some pancakes if you're hungry."

Gilbert stretched. "Thanks. Where are your parents?"

Vladimir laughed, his teeth flashing. "You kidding me? Out of town for a week. If they found out I threw a party, they'd slaughter me." Vladimir backed out of the room. "Take your time, uh... recollecting yourself. And, Gilbert?"

"Yeah?"

Vladimir smirked. "Put some pants on."

The door closed and Gilbert was alone. It took him a minute to realize he was in his boxers, nothing else. He grabbed his phone, which was sitting on the nightstand. There was a text from Francis waiting.

Gilbert bit his lip. Oh, shit. He remembered everything. And it made him want to throw up again. He and Francis had... had... Gilbert had to lie. He _had to._

_10:16 AM - Gilbert Beilschmidt - U ok? Where are you? Sorry, I don't remember shit. Do you?_

_10:18 AM - Francis Bonnefoy - I'm fine. I'm at home. And no, I don't know anything._

Gilbert knew exactly what happened. And so did Francis. But they didn't know... they didn't know that the other knew.

Good friends shouldn't lie to each other.

But is it still lying if you can get away with it?

And what happens if you can't?


	21. Check Your Inbox

_A/N: Just letting you guys know that when characters text, the format is italics, time, and name. Also, 'Dr. Alfher' is Germania._

* * *

**December 13th**

The Café Italia was somewhat busy, so Francis and Arthur could talk at a comfortable level without fearing being overheard by anyone—unless someone was listening. But after looking around, Francis realized everyone was too concerned with their own lives to pay him any attention. Good.

"So, are you going to tell me what this is about, or...?" Arthur gestured vaguely at the coffee Francis had ordered for them both.

Francis found that he couldn't make eye contact with Arthur. It occurred to him that though he and Arthur were friends—close friends—he didn't know Arthur's secret, only that Arthur was upset about it.

Francis decided he wasn't going to tell Arthur his own secret, either.

But then, what was there to tell?

"Sit, why don't you?" Francis asked.

Arthur did, and took his coffee. "You want to tell me about your secret, don't you?"

"How did—"

"Oh, come on, Francis. You think I really believe you'd just invite me to have coffee with you while all of this is going on?" Arthur lowered his voice. "Anyway, Antonio called me a few minutes ago. He said you stopped at Lovino's house, and that Lovino is your secret-keeper. So..."

Francis narrowed his eyes. Stupid Antonio. "Fine, yes, that is what I want to talk about. I'm safe now, and I got my letter."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Well, that's great," he said. "So, what's the secret?"

"I don't want to tell you," Francis admitted, staring at the table.

"What?" Arthur exclaimed.

Francis didn't look up.

"Whatever," Arthur huffed. "I already know, Francis. You honestly think I either don't know you very well or that I'm just plain stupid. Either is slightly insulting."

The Frenchman finally met Arthur's eyes, mouth parted in surprise. "How?"

"Remember yesterday, I was upset about Elizaveta? Before she got into that fight with Matthew? I told you nothing was wrong, but you saw right through that. Oh, you dolt! I've been putting the pieces together for a while now. Recall how surprised we all were when we found out Gilbert was gay. At Mathias' house on Tuesday. Do you remember?"

Francis gave a minute nod of his head, concentrating on Arthur's words like a lifeline.

"You made some comment about Gilbert and the fun you two could have had together if he were still alive. It shocked everyone." Arthur rolled his eyes. "But you were lying."

"Joking," corrected Francis.

"It wasn't joking," Arthur said. "You called me here to talk about your secret, but you never planned to tell me what it was. You like to mislead people. You didn't plan on telling anyone in the Confidants' Club your secret, either, did you?" Arthur took a drink of his coffee. "My point is, I know you too well. You made that comment just to sidetrack people, so that they'd never dream you did what you really did."

Francis snarled, and for the first time in his life, he was truly angry with Arthur. "You think you're Sherlock Holmes, don't you?"

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. "All I can conclude is that you and Gilbert did something of the, uh, inappropriate nature together. That's it. Am I right?"

Shaking his head in fury, Francis stood up, grabbed his coffee, and stormed out of the café. Sometimes Arthur scared him. Really scared him. Was what Francis had done that obvious? He ignored Arthur's calls of, "Wait, Francis, we can talk through this together," and raced out of the mall, opening his umbrella and running to his car.

**December 14th**

To:

Natalia Arlovskaya / Ludwig Beilschmidt / Lukas Bondevik / Francis Bonnefoy / Ivan Braginsky / Elizaveta Héderváry / Kiku Honda / Alfred Jones / Arthur Kirkland / Emil Steilsson / Tino Väinämöinen / Feliciano Vargas / Lovino Vargas / Matthew Williams / Lilli Zwingli

Subject: Mandatory Meeting

Hello students of various grades. This is Dr. Alfher, the school counselor. Faculty has been hearing a lot recently about your former classmates Gilbert Beilschmidt and Louise Canella. Possible connections have been drawn between all of you and Gilbert and/or Louise. Tomorrow (Monday, December 15th), please meet after school at 3:30 in the theater. If you are receiving this email, attendance is required. All news shared will be strictly confidential. It is undetermined if any of you are in trouble or not. Thank you.

-Dr. Alfher

_7:09 PM - Alfred Jones: WTF? You got the email, right? How did the COUNSELOR find out about this?! _

_7:12 PM - Arthur Kirkland: Damn, I don't know, but looks like we're all going to be in a LOT of trouble._

_7:13 PM - Alfred Jones: My question: How is it that Antonio and Mathias didn't get on the list, but people like LILLI ZWINGLI and FELICIANO VARGAS did? And Tino? HUH?_

_7:14 PM - Arthur Kirkland: Dunno, but this is looking really, really bad. AND they know about Louise. We are fucked._

* * *

_8:05 PM - Lilli Zwingli: Omg, have you checked you inbox lately? What's going on?_

_8:07 PM - Emil Steilsson: Yes, I got the email from Dr. Alfher. Lukas AND I? And YOU? This is so not good._

_8:08 PM - Lilli Zwingli: Definitely. But weren't you talking to Mathias about Gilbert and Ivan last week during lunch?_

_8:15 PM - Lilli Zwingli: Emil?_

* * *

_10:28 PM - Antonio F. Carriedo: I just got a very angry voicemail from Lovino Vargas. Do you know what's going on? Everyone in The Confidants' Club is panicking._

_10:30 PM - Francis Bonnefoy: A bunch of us are in trouble. Everyone in the Club (except you and Mathias), a couple secret-keepers, and even a few people who aren't really affiliated with any of this. We got an email from the counselor. The faculty knows that something's up. They're calling a mandatory meeting tomorrow afternoon._

_10:32 PM - Antonio F. Carriedo: Oh, no. About Gilbert?_

_10:33 PM - Francis Bonnefoy: AND Louise Canella. People haven't talked about her in ages. What is going on?_

_10:34 PM - Antonio F. Carriedo: Shit, shit, shit. I wish I knew. Tell me what happens at the meeting tomorrow, okay?_

_10:35 PM - Francis Bonnefoy: I will. I can't believe this..._


	22. The Spring Musicale

_A/N: A friend of mine was reading this story, and when she got to the end of what I'd written, she asked me, "Is it going to be a happy ending?" Huh. It'll depend on what your definition of happy is, as well as your opinions on justice and love. Each reader might have a different conclusion. But possibly._

* * *

**December 15th**

"You're staying after school today, Liz?" Michelle asked. "But we were gonna go to my house after school to study for the finals! They start Wednesday, you know!"

"Hey!" Mei protested. "Why wasn't I invited?"

Michelle rolled her eyes. "'Cuz you're in all the smart AP classes, and us idiots are down with the rest of humanity."

Mei snorted, and Elizaveta looked around the hallway desperately. She, Mei, and Michelle were standing near her locker, chatting before first bell, and since she had that 'mandatory meeting', she wouldn't be able to make it to Michelle's study group. And even though they were acting normal, Elizaveta could tell her friends were still worried about her. She did not want to add to their last-week-of-school final exams stress, either.

"I..." her eyes flickered past a poster on the wall. Spring Musicale Auditions this week? "I, uh, I'm going to try out for the Spring Musicale. I know it's not until March, but auditions are the last week of school before winter break."

"Spring Musicale?" Mei asked skeptically. "Elizaveta, in ninth grade when we had to read _Romeo and Juliet_, you fell asleep every day and got a week of detention. You hate drama."

"I've changed!" Elizaveta insisted. "Well, I better get to class. Later."

"Uh-huh," Michelle grunted. "Whatever, Elizaveta. Good luck with your audition." As soon as the Hungarian was out of earshot, Michelle turned like lightning to her remaining friend. "What are we gonna do?"

"Heh?" Mei leaned against Elizaveta's locker and sipped her morning tea from a Tervis. "About what?"

"Think! Like you said, she hates theater." Michelle grabbed Mei's wrist and dragged her across the hall to the Spring Musicale Audition poster. "Auditions are today after school. I'm going to stay—"

Mei grabbed her wrist away. "You're always complaining about how talentless you are—"

"Geez, Mei! I'm not going to try out. I'll stay to see if _Elizaveta_ tries out. If she was telling the truth."

"Oh," Mei said. "But if she isn't staying for the auditions... You really think she'd lie to us?"

Michelle shrugged. "Elizaveta's no actress. She's hiding things from us, Mei, and I'm worried about her. We've got to figure out what's going on."

* * *

"Hey, dude. What's up?" Alfred slid into his seat and turned back to look at Arthur. "You okay?"

"No," Arthur snapped. "Class is starting. Turn around and be quiet."

Alfred was unsatisfied with Arthur's vague answer, but turned around as the bell rang. As Alfred absently took notes in class while people around him dozed, read, or stared into space, the American thought about Arthur and Elizaveta. Arthur was still acting strangely around Elizaveta—he hadn't talked to her since that past Friday night. And people were whispering about Elizaveta. Rumors were flying. Though Alfred knew it was no laughing matter, he found a few of them very amusing.

Some said Elizaveta had blown up at Matthew because the two had been secretly dating, and then Elizaveta caught Matthew with a guy. Apparently, during Elizaveta's angry, public rant, she had made a light reference to Matthew and Gilbert—omitting Gilbert's name, of course—but now everyone thought Elizaveta was a crazy bitch (comparative to Natalia Arlovskaya—yikes) and Matthew was decidedly less-than-straight.

Alfred thought it was funny how people jumped to such bizarre conclusions, but people were being awful to Matthew in the halls, which made Alfred extremely uncomfortable. If that was how his classmates were going to behave, how would he ever...?

"Mr. Jones, if you would please pay attention for just a minute." The teacher's exasperated voice jerked Alfred back to reality.

"Yes, sorry."

* * *

_Dear Maddie,_

_A bunch of rumors are going around about me. Isn't that great?_

_I know in previous entries I talked about Elizaveta, maybe just a sentence or two, but I'll clarify: she's this Hungarian girl in my grade. I think Arthur's fond of her. She's close friends with people like Mei Xiao and Michelle Mancham and Roderich Edelstein and_—_formerly_—_Gilbert._

_Anyway, the Winter Soirée was three days ago, and it was absolutely terrible. You know how I said rumors were going around? I'm going to set them straight for you._

_1) I am not gay. _

_2) I saved Elizaveta_—_though no one besides Arthur knows she almost lost her life on Friday._

_3) I never dated her._

_It's so ridiculous, the things people think up. It breaks my heart. And imagine how Alfred must be feeling, hearing the things people say to me when I am not even gay. It must be very difficult for him... _

_I need to make a confession._

_No one in the Confidants' Club understands my secret. I have heard them speculate about it when they think I'm not listening; when they think it's okay. It's all fine, though. They believe me to be this innocent person who got caught up in Gilbert's drama and vengeance. They think nothing is my fault, really._

_It isn't true._

_I know why my secret is in here. There was a time when I thought that maybe_—_maybe_—_I might be interested in guys. And then Gilbert liked me, I kind of knew, and for a time, I did like him back. So I led him on. But when he finally asked me out, I realized it wasn't what I wanted, and I couldn't do it. I felt bad, but I got over it._

_I didn't realize Gilbert was going to do such extreme things, though._

_Of course, I'd normally never say this. But you won't tell anyone, will you, Maddie?_

_-Sincerely, your cousin, Matthew_

Matthew sighed deeply and shut his journal, stuffing it into his bag. He hadn't wanted to eat in the cafeteria—people had been shouting rude things at him all day, and it had taken him two classes to realize the stories that were floating around—so he'd escaped to the library.

He was dreading that meeting. Everyone was, as far as he knew. What the heck had happened? Had someone tripped up? Let something slip?

But _who_?

And how had so many unassociated people been slapped on the list? They couldn't all be secret-keepers, right?

Matthew jumped as someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Ivan. "_O-oui_? Oh, Ivan! H-hello!"

"Why are you eating lunch in here?"

"I... uh..." Matthew trailed off and looked down at his uneaten lunch. "Well, you see..."

"I heard the rumors. So, are they true?"

Matthew was taken aback. "Of course not! You—I thought you'd know that!"

Ivan raised his hand. "Calm down. I believe you. So... are you ready for the meeting today?"

"Of course not," Matthew repeated. "What about you? What do you think happened?"

"If you will recall, we haven't been too inconspicuous of the late. Me getting in that fight with Alfred, Elizaveta screaming at you... and I heard something about Arthur and Louise Canella. Someone's bound to have started wondering."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Matthew replied. "Still, it can't be good if the faculty starts sticking their noses in our business."

"I know." The two had a moment of unawkward silence, and then Ivan said, "Matthew? I feel bad about what I did to Gilbert."

"Yeah, well, it's over."

"But also with Toris Laurinaitis, Eduard von Bock, and Raivis Galante..."

"Y-you bullied them, too?"

Pause. "Yes..."

Matthew stood up. "Come on. Let's go apologize to them."

"Really?"

The Canadian grabbed his bag. "Yes. Because they're still here, aren't they? It's not too late, Ivan."

Ivan and Matthew were walking out of the door when Ivan paused. "Matthew?"

"What?"

"Are we friends?"

Matthew hesitated for only a moment. "Of course."


	23. Alfher's Meeting

_A/N: I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but Tino is in the same grade as the eight kids of the Confidants' Club (which is eleventh)._

* * *

**December 15th**

Mathias checked his watch. 3:25. He turned to Lukas. "You'd better hurry. You don't want to be late."

The two eleventh-graders were standing in the school theater's lobby. Alfred had forwarded Dr. Alfher's email to Mathias (as a loyal member of the Confidants' Club), so he knew all about the stupid little incrimination meeting. Ouch.

Lukas nodded and pushed the heavy theater door open. "I'll tell you what happens. Bye."

A few seconds later, the theater lobby door squeaked open. Mathias turned and recognized his classmate Michelle standing there, paper in hand.

"Uh," the islander began, "Mathias? You're trying out for the Spring Musicale? You're in Drama Club, right?"

"Wh-what? Oh, no, but I was last year."

"Aren't auditions in the theater?" Michelle asked. "I have my monologue and everything."

Mathias frowned. "Um, no. They're in the Black Box, I think."

"Great." Michelle glanced at her paper. "So, why are you here, then?"

"Uh..." Mathias peered through the small window in the theater door. "I'm looking for... for—" _Dammit, Mathias! Think! _"You know what, Michelle? How about we just walk over to the Black Box together, so you can get to your audition?" Mathias suggested. Michelle gave a tiny nod and began walking to the exit of the theater lobby.

Her investigations would have to wait.

* * *

Elizaveta breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped into the theater. She had nearly had a run-in with Michelle, whom she had seen walking past the arts annex with Mathias. She had ducked behind a vending machine just in time to avoid detection.

Elizaveta looked around the theater. Nearly everyone was present. She spotted Lilli Zwingli sitting in the very back row next to Emil Steilsson, tears streaming down her face. Compassion got the better of Elizaveta and she swooped down to the underclassman and embraced her in a hug.

"Hey, Lilli. It's going to be all right. Don't worry."

Though Lilli didn't say anything, she managed a weak smile. Elizaveta felt a bit better about herself.

"Is everyone here?" Dr. Alfher's voice rang through the empty theater, scanning the seats. The fifteen or so students were seated sporadically throughout the theater. Dr. Alfher did a quick count. "All right, we can begin. You all know why you're here, right?"

Mixed murmurs from the crowd. Some angry whispering. A sniffle or two.

"Based on anonymous tips and just the actions of everyone, the faculty has connected many of you to the deaths of your classmates, Gilbert and Louise." Was it Elizaveta's imagination, or did his eyes linger on her for a second when he said that?

"Louise?" Lilli asked, her eyes wide and tear-filled.

Emil whispered something to her—Elizaveta could make out the words 'bus' and 'crash'—and Lilli nodded unhappily.

"Objection, Your Honor," Alfred said, standing up. From the seat next to the American, Arthur sighed and buried his face in his hand.

Dr. Alfher raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Jones?"

"U-um, well!" Alfred seemed to be pulling words from the air. "You can't accuse us of anything. I mean, look around. Most of us—if not all of us—we're innocent. You haven't actually told us what we're guilty of yet, and, like, Habeas Corpus or whatever—"

"Sit, you imbecile," Arthur hissed, yanking Alfred down to his seat by the wrist.

"Yes, well," Dr. Alfher replied. "The faculty is going to work this issue like this. If you're in this room, you've been accused of either inflicting or witnessing damage to Mr. Beilschmidt and Miss Canella. Unless you can prove your innocence, there is going to be serious punishment."

"What the hell?!" Natalia Arlovskaya screeched, jumping up from her chair. "I was here in ninth grade, so believe me, I remember Louise, I really do. But even now, we have no proof at all that her death was a suicide. Remember all the controversy that happened? You can't honestly be stirring that pot again—"

"Language, Miss Arlovskaya," Dr. Alfher scolded. "And I said Louise _or_ Gilbert. Perhaps _you_ have been associated with Gilbert, yes?" That shut her up.

Elizaveta raised her hand. "Dr. Alfher, what kind of punishment?"

"We have proposed a ten day school suspension. And depending on how deep these issues run, expulsion is a definite possibility. Nothing is decided yet, though."

Elizaveta's eye twitched. She heard Lilli hold back another sob, and patted the blonde girl's shoulder comfortingly while glaring daggers at Dr. Alfher.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Héderváry. Now, any questions?" Dr. Alfher turned his attention to the rest of the theater as Elizaveta discreetly wiped away a few stray tears.

Tino Väinämöinen cleared his throat. The Finnish student looked thoroughly distressed. "Um, you said we have to 'prove our innocence.' How, exactly?"

"Excellent question." Dr. Alfher looked up at the dark, arching ceiling. "Really, the faculty is working this with deductive reasoning. Any information you can provide about either Mr. Beilschmidt or Ms. Canella would, honestly, be very helpful."

Dead silence.

"So, wait," Arthur said after a moment. "You... you want us to blame our friends and other classmates to clear our own names?"

Dr. Alfher frowned. He had never liked Arthur too much. "No, not exactly," he snapped. "I'm saying that anything any of you have to say—"

"To blame other people," Arthur interrupted. "This is terrible! How do... I mean, just!" He shook his head and looked down at the floor.

"When does the punishment take place?" Francis questioned, ignoring Arthur completely.

"Nothing is certain yet. However, from this point on, every one of you will be under the careful eye of the administrators."

A single agonized noise echoed from the back of the theater, and everyone turned. For the first time, people noticed Ludwig, who had been sitting quietly with tears dripping down from his piercing blue eyes. Without another word, the German tenth-grader grabbed his bookbag and hurried out of the room.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, the meeting is not over," Dr. Alfher began, but of all people, Natalia, who was sitting directly in front of the counselor, stood up for the second time.

"Let him go," she demanded, her voice a hundred times icier than Ivan on his worst days. Dr. Alfher took a few steps back and hit the stage. "M-Miss Arlovskaya?"

"Hasn't he been through enough?" the Belarusian demanded. "Ludwig's got it the worst of all of us. He lost his brother to suicide. How do you think that makes him feel? It only does him worse when you drag him to a meeting and threaten to expel him over it! They were brothers, Dr. Alfher. How in the world is Ludwig a bully?"

Dr. Alfher began striding to the door. "T-this meeting is dismissed," he said shakily, no doubt disturbed by Natalia. "Remember, you all are being watched at school and school events. If you have anything of use to report, find me or another teacher. Good luck on your exams. And keep in mind..." he stopped just before he reached the door. "Here's some counselor-like advice: _the truth will set you free."_

With that, the theater door closed, leaving everyone sitting in stunned, terror-stricken stillness.


	24. Confessional

_A/N: If you don't remember that Natalia asked Arthur to be her 'boyfriend', check Chapter 4, because it's in there. Best wishes, all!_

* * *

**December 15th**

Arthur stared around at his friends and underclassmen. Everyone was a wreck. Most of the girls were crying, and Natalia was still standing up, staring at the wall with such a spine-chilling look on her face that Arthur shivered. He walked over to her.

"Natalia?"

She turned, resting her terrifying, beautiful eyes on him. "What?" she snapped.

Arthur took a step back. "U-um, I want to talk to you."

Natalia raised one perfect eyebrow. Arthur realized she was probably the prettiest girl in the entire school, with pale porcelain skin and pink cheeks like a Russian doll, but her reputation kept people from noticing.

"Do you remember a few weeks ago how you asked me to, uh, be your boyfriend?"

She snorted. "Of course."

"Why?"

She paused for a moment, thinking. "Well, I thought you could get me closer to Ivan."

"How?" Arthur was baffled. "We aren't close."

"Oh, I know. But you and Alfred are. Alfred and Ivan used to be friends before they got into that fight. So I thought maybe I could get closer to Ivan, no?"

"So why didn't you just ask Alfred out?"

Natalia didn't answer. Instead, she told Arthur to mind his own business, then turned and exited the theater, her phone held to one ear.

Alfred came up behind Arthur. "Damn."

"Alfred! Git, you scared me. Damn what?"

Alfred was smiling. "That girl can keep a secret. She didn't tell you that I'm, uh, gay, even though you already know. I must say, I'm relieved."

"That makes one of us," Arthur sighed. "Come home with me. I'm having an emergency Club meeting. This is not going well..."

* * *

"Kiku!"

Kiku turned. Elizaveta was rushing over to him, nearly running across the theater, her combat boots tapping loudly against the floor. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, um, I don't know. I just got the email."

"Of course, of course." Elizaveta shook her head slowly, eyes closed. "This is so terrible, isn't it? Dr. Alfher's a horrible person. Poor Ludwig! I know you and Feliciano are friends with him, though, so maybe you can talk to him."

"_Hai_..." Kiku began lifting his bookbag over his shoulder, and as he did so, a deck of cards toppled out of the front pocket and spilled across the floor.

Elizaveta helped him clean them up, half-heartedly examining the cards as she lumped them back in a pile. The cards were obviously a bit old, but still in perfect condition.

Something odd caught Elizaveta's eye as she and Kiku started putting them back in the case.

The cards were all pristine, but one of them had a small, jagged rip on the side.

_Hmm...?_

* * *

Ivan read over the text message one last time. Apparently, an 'emergency' Club meeting was being held at Arthur's. This was not what Ivan wanted to be doing! The text had appeared on his phone just after he had gotten home from Dr. Alfher's meeting. (Disastrous.) What else could the Confidants' Club want to discuss?

Ivan glanced up at Arthur's giant, sprawling house with the beautiful white rose bushes in the front. All the flowers and trees were dead for the winter, but the yard was still in excellent condition. Sure, everyone knew the Kirklands were rich, but this didn't stop the pang of envy that hit Ivan. Not so much of the house and the yard, but just of Arthur's life. Of everything.

The inside of the house was lavish, neat, and expensive. Everyone was sitting in the dining room, with its long, polished oak table and glittering chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Arthur stood up. "Ivan, you're the last one here."

Ivan paused. "But there are only six people here."

"Mathias and Antonio weren't invited because they didn't get called to Dr. Alfher's meeting," Elizaveta explained. "Because we don't know anything about them."

"What?" Ivan asked.

"They haven't told us—" Elizaveta began, but Arthur cut her off by clearing his throat.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur insisted. "But I know that meeting a few minutes ago was very surprising..."

Alfred snorted. "That Dr. Alfher dude is a pain in the ass. I don't even think he's for real—no _true _counselor would talk to students like he did."

Matthew waved a hand. "Yes, yes, but why did you call us here, Arthur? Why couldn't you wait until tomorrow or this weekend? We're all exhausted. And it was on such short notice."

"We only have ten days left, and we're disorganized. We need to come clean," Arthur said.

The mood of the room turned heavy and uncomfortable.

"What I'm trying to say is, everyone has varying knowledge of everyone else's secrets, and it's very confusing. We should all just share what we did here and now and end the guessing."

Alfred shrugged. "To hell with it. You all already know my secret."

Ivan coughed, and Elizaveta elbowed him in the ribs, frowning. Then, the brunette said, "Well, I illegally sold alcoholic drinks, and somehow, a bottle of vodka I gave to Ivan's cousin, Anya, travelled from her to Ivan to Gilbert at a party over the summer."

Huh. So, the truth will set you free? Elizaveta felt a lightness on her chest that she hadn't felt in a while. It was nice.

Francis' eyes widened. "A bottle of vodka? Was it Absolut?"

Elizaveta raised her chin. "It was."

Francis leaned back in his seat. "Well, that vodka ended up with me. Gilbert and I drank the whole thing at Vladimir's party over the summer and then we... participated in some rather regrettable activity."

Ivan coughed again, obviously disgusted with Francis, and Elizaveta kicked him under the table, so roughly that he flinched. "Go on," she hissed to the Russian.

"I threatened and injured Gilbert for years," Ivan said. "I'm sorry."

"I led Gilbert on," Matthew muttered. "And he asked me out, but I knew I was straight, so I rejected him."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "I let Louise Canella die," he blurted out.

There was silence in the room. Everyone had finally spoken their piece; finally admitted to their wrongdoings. Remorse filled the air.

Have you ever been in a loud place, and then all of a sudden, there's an unplanned silence, and once people realize it's quiet, everyone laughs?

That's exactly what happened then. The weight of the secrets had been lifted the tiniest bit by confession, and all six people in the silent room began laughing, or crying, or laughing and crying, looking at each other and doubling over with smiles and tears.

For the first time, the Confidants' Club held the feeling of hope. Hope and the slightest bit of relief.


	25. A Change of Events

_A/N: OH MY GOODNESS. I was going through all the chapters and fixing grammatical mistakes and such, and I accidentally DELETED this chapter... MONTHS after it was originally published! So now I have to rewrite it, but my memory's a bit iffy... excuse any mistakes, I'm going off previous reviews... Geez, I am a mess..._

* * *

**December 15th**

Mathias sat on his bed, a copy of _The Great Gatsby _in his hands. A mug of steaming hot chocolate sat on his nightstand, which he took periodic sips out of. He was wearing glasses, which very few people ever saw. He always wore contacts to school, especially after that day when Gilbert had told him that Mathias' glasses made him look like a twenty-five-year-old librarian/hipster.

Mathias' phone, which had been sitting next to his hot chocolate, rang, and he set his book down and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mathias? Hey, it's Antonio. Did you know that the Confidants' Club just had a meeting?"

"Huh?" Mathias swung his legs off his bed and took a few paces over to his window, where gentle snow was beginning to fall from the darkening sky. "I had no idea. Did they call you? Did you know?"

"No, I just found out. We were the only ones they didn't invite."

Mathias felt uncertain. "They are hiding things from us, Antonio. I know."

Nervous laughter. "Don't be silly. Why would the Confidants' Club hide anyth—"

"We've got to strike them before they strike us!" Mathias exclaimed. He was on a roll now. "Meet me tomorrow morning by the gym. Antonio, this—this is horrifying..."

"Mathias, it's—"

"No! They're terrible, lying people. Just meet me tomorrow. Yes, goodbye. Okay, see you then." Mathias ended the call. In a fit of confusion and fury, the teen grabbed _The Great Gatsby _and hurled it across the room, watching it hit the window and fall to the hardwood floor like a sad little bird with fluttering pages for wings.

This was not good.

**December 16th**

Arthur absentmindedly twisted in his locker combination. He had just arrived at school with twenty minutes to spare, and was looking forward to sitting down in homeroom, taking a breath, and maybe reading a little bit or listening to some music. He needed a breather.

A paper fluttered out of his locker. Arthur set his books on his locker shelf and bent down, picking the sheet up. A single word was written on the paper in strikingly red marker, as garish as if someone had used blood to write their message. The word hit Arthur right in the heart.

_MURDERER. _

* * *

Mathias was in shadow, waiting just outside of the doors of the gym. "Antonio?"

The Spaniard stepped up nervously. "Mathias, you sounded so upset on the phone yesterday... you were talking about striking? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," Mathias said. He looked a bit sheepish. "I didn't really mean that stuff. I was just surprised. I didn't know that the Confidants' Club had a meeting, that's all. I know I shouldn't have lashed out like that. I don't know what got into me. Sorry."

Antonio relaxed into a smile. Yes, Mathias was back to normal. "Okay, great. Still, I want to find out what we missed at the meeting."

"Okay. Actually, I'll ask Arthur now." Mathias waved goodbye to Antonio then sped toward the academics hallway. Honestly, he didn't care about finding out what had happened at the meeting. He just wanted to get away from Antonio's concerned and suspicious looks. Mathias pretended to go into the hallway where Arthur's first class was, then sprinted out of the academics wing, making a break for the theater, until he ran smack into Michelle.

"Ow—oh, hey. How'd your audition go?" Mathias asked, rubbing his head.

Michelle hesitated. "It was fine, thanks for asking."

Meanwhile, Arthur was sitting in a classroom that Mathias had just passed, fretting with Alfred about the note he had just received.

Alfred patted his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry too much, Arthur. I'm sure it's just your secret-keeper or someone trying to get a rise out of you. Maybe someone in the Confidants' Club, if they were feeling extra confident."

"Who in the Confidants' Club would do that?" Arthur mumbled, his words muffled by the fact that he had his head on his desk.

"I don't know."

"This is so upsetting. What am I going to do if people find out?"

Alfred shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of the right think to say. "Ah, um..."

"Speaking of which, have you told your parents about _your _secret?" Arthur turned his head so that one green eye was peering out from over his arm, his eyebrow raised questioningly. Alfred sighed. "I was actually planning to this Friday. They won't be happy, Arthur. They really won't."

"Your parents love you."

"Listen, dude..." Alfred lowered his voice. "I know they do. But they're like... I don't know. The Braginsky family, for example. I just, oh, maybe it'll be okay. Maybe."

"I'm always here if you need me." Despite the fact that Arthur was irritable and distressed, Alfred knew he was being honest.

"Thanks." Alfred forced a laugh. "Anyway, it could be worse, couldn't it? Like, I could have beaten up Gilbert all the time, or, or—"

"Or you could have let someone get hit by a bus," Arthur said dully, "then stood around while the entire school debated if it was a suicide or an accident." He groaned quietly, as if suddenly remembering his predicament, and buried his entire face back in his arms. "I hate this. I honestly have no clue who my secret-keeper could be, and this note is just like a reminder that things aren't going to be okay. I'm a murderer," Arthur practically shouted.

Alfred glanced around nervously. Thankfully, everyone else was wrapped up in their phones or prepping for the day, and no one noticed Arthur's commentary.

"Please lower your voice," Alfred said, as kindly as he could manage. Arthur took the hint and sighed. "Sorry."

"You know," Alfred began, trying his best to sound nonchalant, "you should apologize to Francis. He's your friend and all. Friends should stay friends. I know he's not very happy with you."

"You really think I should?" Arthur questioned.

"Yes."

"Fine."

There was a gap in the conversation.

"So, Friday," Arthur said. "Best of luck."

"Y-yeah."

"Whatever happens, I'll try to help."

"Arthur?"

"Hmm."

Alfred grinned. "I couldn't have asked for a stupider, grumpier, more loyal friend. Thank you."

Arthur lifted his head slightly. "The feeling is mutual, git."


	26. Infatuation

_A/N: Thanks for returning! I'm sorry that this story has been going for so long, it's just that there's so much I'd like to write in here; so much I'd like to do! Also, I read a fanfic a while back where Mathias' mother's name was Emilie, so I'm taking that and using it for Mrs. Køhler, okay?_

* * *

**December 16th**

To Arthur's surprise, it hadn't taken much for Francis to accept an apology—just a few words. He had obviously had time to calm down, giving him a more levelheaded approach to everything. "I'm still not happy with the way you said everything," Francis told Arthur, "but I'm willing to overlook it at this moment."

"Thank you," Arthur said. "Again, I'm sorry for my thoughtlessness."

Lunch had just started, and Alfred was focused on devouring his fairly sizable meal, though he was clearly happy Arthur and Francis had reconciled. Matthew was nowhere to be found. Francis began peeling his orange, turning to Arthur. "What was it you wanted to tell me, _mon ami_?"

"Right." Arthur dug into his bag for a moment and pulled out the slightly crumpled paper. "I found this in my locker. Isn't that just rude?"

"Someone's marker-happy," Alfred snorted.

Francis looked at the paper and narrowed his eyes, then handed it back to Arthur. "You two obviously don't have very much experience with women. That isn't marker. It's _lipstick."_

"What?!"

"Oh, oh! You couldn't even tell that? It's quite obvious!"

"Yes, sorry, Alfred and I don't use much lipstick!" Arthur retorted.

"So a girl wrote it?" Alfred asked. "That's a hint, isn't it?"

"Mmm... maybe, no? Perhaps a girl didn't write this," Francis said. "But you're right, it's a very bright red. I don't know anyone who wears this color lipstick."

"Yeah," Alfred said slowly. "Hey, where's Matthew?"

"Not sure," Francis replied. "Yesterday he told me he ate in the library. People are being awfully cruel, you see?"

Alfred sighed. "Tell me about it."

Outside in the courtyard, Emil, Lilli, Raivis, and Yong-Soo were eating lunch together, just like always.

"Why do we have to eat out here in the middle of December?" Emil complained, drawing his scarf up to cover his chin and nose. "It was _snowing_ yesterday. It's freezing. I would make a blanket out of leaves, but they all fell off the trees _months _ago."

"Because it's so cold, no one else is eating out here—we've got the courtyard to ourselves!" Yong-Soo exclaimed.

"That's a terrible and stupid idea," Emil snapped, and he and the Korean engaged in a quick argument about hypothermia.

"You seem happy today, Raivis," Lilli commented, ignoring Emil and Yong-Soo's bickering, which had morphed into a rather offensive 'Yo Mama' war.

"Oh. Yes," Raivis said, smiling. "I had to stay in Ms. Hamilton's class yesterday during lunch to help her around the room, and Ivan Braginsky walked in with Matthew Williams. And Ivan apologized."

"Surely not!" Lilli gasped, grinning. "Raivis, that's wonderful! What'd he say?"

"Just that he's sorry that he's been treating me meanly these past few years, and that he's going to stop."

"Just like that?"

"Oh, I mean, I'm still not very fond of him, but he did apologize and all."

Lilli nodded. "Good." She was faking a smile for Raivis. Sure, she really was genuinely happy that Ivan had apologized to her Latvian friend, but all through lunch, she and Emil kept exchanging nervous glances. Dr. Alfher's meeting had been a shock. Lilli knew she was blameless. She'd barely known Gilbert, and the name Louise Canella was all but foreign to her.

But like saying that was going to get her anywhere.

Back in the (warm) cafeteria, Alfred had left the lunchroom to head to the library in search for Matthew, leaving Arthur and Francis alone. Arthur had already explained Louise's death and Elizaveta's near-death to Francis, who sat listening, nodding his head every so often.

"If you don't mind, Arthur, I'd like to say something," Francis said once Arthur was finished.

"Of course." Arthur picked up a misshapen pastry-like abomination and took a bite out of it.

"You like Elizaveta, then?"

"O-oh, I think so."

"And you say you have since that day before ninth grade?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't know until last Friday."

Francis nodded slowly. "_Oui_, well, don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're safe from love. I don't think you like Elizaveta—I think you're infatuated with her. And before you ask, no, infatuation is not love. You say you suddenly developed a 'crush' on someone with the explanation that you've loved them all these years, you just didn't know? Sorry, but I don't really think it works that way, Arthur."

"Okay, then what am I supposed to do?"

Francis leaned back in his chair. "Nothing. Infatuation doesn't last long."

"But—"

"Look, have you even spoken to her since the dance?"

"No, but I—"

"Arthur," Francis snapped. "Either man up and talk to her, or admit that you're simply infatuated and admiring from afar."

"Err... git."

* * *

"Mathias, dear, are you all right?" Emilie Køhler placed both hands on her hips and frowned at her son.

"I'm fine, Mor," Mathias said, setting his backpack down and walking to the fridge to find an after-school snack. "Why d'ya ask?"

"I just..." Emilie sighed. "You've been taking your medicine, right, Mathias?"

Mathias frowned. "Of course. Look, do you want to tell me anything important, or just make false accusations?"

Emilie flinched. "Don't be rude," she scolded.

"I'm sorry, Mor. School's just been a lot, with... exam stress. I didn't mean it."

Emilie relaxed into a smile. "Anyway, dear, I was going to tell you that we're leaving Friday night."

"Friday night?"

"Winter break starts—don't you know? Aren't you and your friends counting down the days?"

"Well, yes, but... what are you talking about?"

"We're taking our annual trip to Denmark, sweetie. Sorry for the short notice, but you know we at least go every Christmas. I thought I should remind you, as you haven't started packing your bags yet. Usually you're so excited."

Mathias felt his blood run cold. He loved visiting home, but he couldn't look for a secret-keeper if he was halfway across the world.

"Mathias?" Emilie asked, her voice concerned. "You look pale—are you positive you're feeling okay?"

"Yes, Mor!" Mathias exclaimed. "I'm going to study; please call me when dinner is ready!" Mathias raced up the stairs and shut the door to his room. Nothing was going well... Things were falling apart... Mathias picked up _The Great Gatsby, _which was still sitting on his nightstand, and tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and landed on the floor with a dull thud.

A Swiss Army Knife sat on his dresser. If he were any good at throwing knives, he would have picked it up and tossed it somewhere. Instead, he pulled out the little dagger and stared at the blade. Suddenly inspired, Mathias grabbed his phone and scrolled through his recent contacts until he found Antonio's number.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounded tired.

"I have a great idea!" Mathias laughed heartily. The world was sharpening to a crystal clarity. Things were so simple, really. "I know what we have to do, Antonio! Can you meet me at the Starbucks by school in, say, twenty minutes?"

"Wh-wh-what?"

"Great, thanks! See you then!" Mathias hung up and grabbed a book from his dresser, and after giving things a second thought, slipped the knife into his pocket, too. He nearly skipped out the door, calling, "Off to study with a friend, Mor," and left the house, grinning like a madman.


	27. Mathias' Plan

_A/N: I know people (cough—Denmark) are behaving weirdly, but there's an explanation, I promise!_

* * *

**December 16th**

Mathias stood near the Starbucks entrance, euphoria bubbling through his mind. He waited patiently for ten minutes until Antonio arrived.

"You walked here?" Mathias asked.

"I only live a few blocks away," Antonio said cautiously. "Again, Mathias, are you sure you're okay? What's that book you're holding? Do you want to get some coffee?"

"No, no coffee for me, unless you want some."

"No, that's fine." Antonio looked at his shoes.

"Why don't we go to the back lot where it's empty?" Mathias suggested. Antonio grunted an agreement and the two walked behind the Starbucks, shielded from the view of the public. Antonio felt nervousness and discomfort tingling through his skin.

"So, what is this about?" he asked.

"Remember how I said we should accuse other people before they accuse us? Now, I know I was wrong there, of course. But I know how to fix everything!"

Antonio raised an eyebrow. _"¿Qué?"_

Mathias lifted up the book he was holding. "We kill Dr. Alfher."

Antonio's tan skin went pale. "Q-quit joking around! That is _not_ funny—"

"Oh, I'm not joking," said Mathias, opening the book. "This is a book I found on Black Magic. We can just use a spell and kill him off, and everything will be fine."

Antonio discreetly pinched his arm. He was positive he was stuck in some bizarre dream, but the stinging cold air was just a little too sharp to be imaginary. Still, the Spaniard subconsciously took a step back, a smile frozen on his face. "Mathias...?"

Mathias pulled out a pocketknife. "It's a blood thing. Just cut yourself, and I'll cut myself, and we use the blood to—"

"Mathias Køhler! Knock it off!"

"Huh?" Mathias snorted. "What do you mean? This is a great plan! Give me your arm." Mathias pulled out the knife and attempted to grasp Antonio's wrist. Antonio jerked back.

"Why aren't you listening to me?" Mathias snarled. "Do this! We have to do this!"

"Mathias, _listen_—"

"Do it or I'll kill you!" Mathias roared.

Antonio knew Mathias couldn't do too much harm with a small pocketknife, but the situation was so strange and worrisome and surreal—receiving death threats from a person popular for their friendliness?—that Antonio felt shock and hysteria beginning to build in his chest.

Thinking quickly and without hesitation, Antonio darted forward and kneed Mathias in the chest. Mathias fell back against the brick wall of the Starbucks, and Antonio lunged toward the Dane and knocked him down against the cold, icy concrete of the parking lot. The knife fell a few feet from Mathias.

Antonio placed his foot against Mathias' throat, but didn't dare add pressure. He wasn't trying to hurt Mathias, he just wanted all the craziness to subdue. "Stay down," Antonio ordered, pulling out his phone.

Antonio quickly ran over his options. Francis wouldn't know what to do. Lovino or Feliciano wouldn't be a lick of help. He wanted to call Alfred, since he knew Alfred and Mathias were close, but Antonio didn't have the American's number. That left Arthur—kind of friends with Mathias, definitely not friends with Antonio. Still... Antonio remembered the conversation they had had the previous Thursday. Maybe the Brit _could_ help.

Arthur picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Arthur, it's Antonio. I need help, and I need help now."

"Antonio? What's the matter?"

"Do you remember the Starbucks the Confidants' Club had their first few meetings at? The one near school? I need you to come over _now_. It's an emergency."

Arthur sounded confused. "Uh... may I ask why?"

"No time! Just get over here, please." Antonio slipped his phone back in his pocket, keeping his shoe pressed against Mathias' neck. "You okay?"

"Please don't kill me," Mathias whispered.

Antonio gasped. "I won't, I won't. I won't hurt you. Don't worry." Antonio waited like that for about five minutes until his phone buzzed.

_5:06 PM - Arthur Kirkland: I'm here, where are you?_

_5:06 PM - Antonio F. Carriedo: In the back. No one's here. Hurry!_

Arthur appeared a moment later, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "What the bloody hell's going on?! Is everyone okay?" He glanced at the book, which had been thrown a short distance away during the brief skirmish. "Hey, this is mine..."

"You own books on Black Magic?!" Antonio exclaimed, exasperation increasing. Mathias made a choking noise, clawing at his throat weakly.

"I'm sorry!" Antonio exclaimed, stepping off the blond entirely. "Have you calmed down?"

"What happened?" Arthur pressed, picking up his book. "Are you two—" Arthur broke off when he saw Mathias scowling.

"We're going to kill Dr. Alfher," he growled. "It's simple. This is your book, after all—you should know how to do this. Give me your wrist."

"I know what you're trying to do, and it's not a good idea." Arthur stepped back. "Mathias, what's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?"

"Near the end of tenth grade, I went over to your house to work on that group project, and I saw this book," Mathias said, his voice rough and uneven. "I thought I could use it, so I took it. I have to hide it, because I know if my mother ever finds it, she'll have a heart attack."

"Look, I'm not really interested in magic! Alfred and Francis got me that book as a joke," Arthur said. "It's terrible. Calm down. Give me the knife and the book."

Mathias jumped forward, attempting to slash Arthur's face open with the knife. Arthur punched Mathias in the jaw, and the latter fell to the ground again. Antonio caught him, surprised by the sudden turn of events.

"Mathias?" Arthur asked guardedly, holding a hand to his cheek. Antonio noticed with a rush of unease that Arthur's face was bleeding.

"He's unconscious," said Antonio breathlessly.

"Good," Arthur said, nodding. He collected the knife and the book, wiping his bloody cheek on his sleeve. "I'll get my car and bring it back here. Let's drive him home and try explain things to Mrs. Køhler..."


	28. He Said, She Said

_A/N: Today I was sitting in math, and someone said something I disagreed with. Instead of saying, "No," do you know what I yelled instead? 'NEIN!' I was SO embarrassed. Everyone heard and laughed! It was so weird, especially because German isn't even a language offered at my current school. I know you guys probably don't care, but this is what Hetalia has done to me! (Or maybe it was the four years of German I took. Huh... the world'll never know, I guess.)_

* * *

**December 16th**

Awkward. Extremely awkward.

That's really the only way you can describe the conversation Antonio and Arthur had with Emilie. What were they supposed to say, anyway? 'Your son tried to kill us and practice Black Magic, so we knocked him out for a bit?' Probably not the best idea.

But just before Emilie was about to usher the two teens out of her home, she stopped them in the hall and said, "May I have a word with you two?"

Antonio and Arthur exchanged a quick glance, then Arthur nodded. "Of course, ma'am."

Emilie distracted herself for just a moment by rearranging a flower vase sitting on a small side table, then looked at the boys. "What I'm about to tell you two... Mathias doesn't like me to tell people this, but considering he tried to attack you both, you deserve to know the truth. I would just like to request that you do not share this with anyone, as it's a very personal matter to our family."

Arthur touched the bandage Emilie had put on his cheek. "We won't." Antonio nodded in agreement.

"Mathias is bipolar," Emilie said. "I suspect he's been skipping out on his medications."

"I—I see," Antonio said before the silence got too long. "About his incident today, though... does he need to go to the hospital or anything?"

Emilie faltered. "I certainly hope not, dear, but I'm definitely going to be making a call to the psychiatrist."

"All right," Arthur said. "I'm going to go home. If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Køhler. Sorry for all the trouble, and thank you for taking care of my cheek. Antonio, are you ready to go? I can drive you home if you'd like."

"Um... I'd appreciate that." Antonio and Arthur nodded a good-bye to Mrs. Køhler, then hurried out of the warm, inviting house into the bitter December cold, rushing to down the driveway. The second they got in Arthur's car, surprise burst from their lips.

"Bipolar?!"

"I can't imagine..."

"But it explains a lot!"

"Certainly. A mental illness, though, huh?"

"You think that's his secret?"

"Oh, undoubtedly."

"Hmm." Antonio held his hands in front of the heater, trying to warm up, while Arthur rolled smoothly out of the Køhler's driveway. "What should we do, Arthur?"

"What _can _we do?" he replied, watching the road carefully as he drove. "I think we should just be there for Mathias, and help him find his secret-keeper, you know?"

"Speaking of which..." Antonio started. "The Confidants' Club had a meeting yesterday, didn't it? That we weren't invited to?"

Arthur looked over to the passenger seat, green eyes startled. "I... I don't—"

"It's quite all right, Arthur. But that's one of the reasons Mathias was so upset. He though you all were plotting against him."

Arthur sighed. "No, it's nothing like that. I suppose I should've invited you two—look here, I'm sorry. From now on, you'll be included in the loop, alright? I just didn't know if the others would want you there, because we were sharing all of our secrets. And you two hadn't said anything yet."

Antonio shrugged. "It's okay. At any rate, I guess we know Mathias' now. Oh, turn here, this is my street..."

**December 17th**

"That was terrible. Terrible!"

"I know... ugh, I failed..."

Francis and Arthur had just finished the pre-calc final and were heading to lunch.

"I have to stop at my locker before I meet you and Alfred in the cafeteria," Francis said. "However, Michelle said she wanted to talk to you."

Arthur looked up from his phone. "Michelle? When?"

"Now. She's in the library. She talked to me before first class this morning and told me to pass the message on to you."

Arthur shrugged at his friend and hurried to the library, weaving expertly through the crowded hallways. The library was nearly empty except for a handful of students working at a row of computers on the far end of the room. Arthur noticed Matthew and Ivan eating their lunch at a table near the back—weird, didn't Matthew normally sit in the cafeteria?—but ignored them and located Michelle.

"Hello," he said, walking up to her. "Francis said you wanted to talk to me?"

Michelle turned to face him, and her face was so distressed Arthur had to stifle a gasp. "Are you okay, Michelle?"

She flinched. "What happened to your face?"

Arthur touched his cheek. He had to keep Mathias' knife wound bandaged. People had been asking him about it all day.

"My cat scratched me when I tried to give it a bath," he said automatically. Wasn't that the first thing people always said when scars or cuts appeared on their body, whether they were self-inflicted or caused by a bipolar Danish teen trying to kill them and murder teachers with dark magic?

"Oh. That's too bad," she said. "So, Arthur. I'm sorry, but I think you should know this..."

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"Elizaveta," Michelle replied, her voice shaky. "I was talking to Elizaveta yesterday, and she said she _hates_ you. She remembers what you said to her the night of the Winter Soirée. She told me..." Michelle lowered her voice slightly. "She told me that she hopes you'll get the message and stop following her around like a puppy. That's a quote."

Arthur inhaled quickly. "She really said all that?"

Michelle stared out the window. "And a lot more, too. I was surprised, because she normally never trash-talks people."

"She hates me that much, huh?" Arthur laughed bitterly. "Right. Okay. Tell her I got it. Tell her I'm oh-so-sorry for wasting her time."

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

"It's not your fault. Thank you for telling me. At least now I know I can move on." Arthur turned and stormed out of the library. Apparently Matthew had noticed, because the Canadian was trailing behind the Brit, calling, "Arthur, are you all right? What's the matter?" Arthur glowered and continued walking.

"Arthur! Seriously!"

"Shut the hell up, Matthew!" Arthur yelled, turning around. Matthew stopped dead like he'd been slapped, hurt filling his eyes. "Go talk to Ivan or something!"

"Arthur," Matthew said quietly. "What happened to your cheek?"

"Like I said to Michelle—my cat! Leave me alone!" And then Arthur was running—full-out sprinting—out of the cafeteria hall and through the frigid courtyard, passing a group of freshmen eating lunch outside (_Crazy, _Arthur had time to think), until he found himself sitting on the grass near the back entrance of the school, staring at the sky.

_Maybe it's not worth it anymore, _Arthur thought. _Maybe we should just give up. It's too difficult for me. It's too much. I mean, human beings can only take so much, right? Isn't there a point where we have to stop or we'll die? Die or have a mental breakdown. Maybe the Confidants' Club should just surrender and accept responsibility for Gilbert. Or Louise. Perhaps Dr. Alfher will expel us all. Oh, I'm too tired to think about these things now..._

Arthur leaned backwards so he was lying down, his back pressed against the cold grass, his green eyes looking up at the sad gray sky.

_Elizaveta hates me. Louise is dead. Gilbert is threatening us all. What am I supposed to do?_


	29. Lies and Truths

_A/N: Before I begin this chapter, I have a word of real-life advice for everyone: NEVER get a haircut if you aren't positive you want it! Ugh..._

* * *

**December 17th **

Ivan glanced up when Matthew returned to the library. "What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing," Matthew sighed, sitting back down and taking a sullen bite of his sandwich. "Arthur's in a bad mood today, and something happened to his face."

"Well I saw him talking to Michelle," Ivan pointed out. "He didn't look too happy about whatever she was telling him."

"Ah, it's unfortunate that all these things are happening." Matthew checked his watch. "We've only got a few minutes left. You ready for some more finals?"

Ivan groaned. "_Nyet_."

* * *

After a few minutes, Arthur stood up, brushed himself off, and headed back inside. He had no desire to return to the cafeteria or the library, and besides, the lunch period was almost over. Arthur shuffled to his locker. Ever since December 1st, he was starting to look more and more like a zombie with every passing day. He knew Alfred and Francis would be wondering where he was, but he didn't have the energy to care. They'd get along fine without him anyway.

The hallways were deserted. Arthur noticed Katyusha Braginskaya, the Ukrainian senior, hanging up Student Government posters on the walls, but that was it.

Arthur opened his locker. To his relief, there wasn't a note accusing him of murder. But there was something else.

A single rose sat on his Chemistry textbook, a string and a note looped delicately around the stem. Arthur grabbed the flower and looked at the note with interest.

_I love you. -E.H._

At that moment, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Arthur knew that in a few seconds, the hall would flood with people rushing to get to their lockers and their next class. He shoved the rose back into his bookbag and slammed the door shut.

The blond headed to his English class and quickly found his seat.

E.H.?

That had to be Elizaveta Héderváry. It _had _to be.

But wait. Why would Elizaveta say she hated Arthur and then turn around and leave a rose and a love confession in his locker?

As students began to file into class, Arthur discreetly reached into his bag and took out the rose. It was real and sweet-smelling and confusing. In the past forty-five minutes, Arthur's emotions had been tossed around so much he was beginning to wonder if he could call his mother to come pick him up. Mathias was taking a mental health day (if such a thing exists). Maybe Arthur could too.

"Here's the test. Fill in each answer space clearly and darkly. If you must erase, do so completely," the teacher instructed, passing out test copies.

Arthur found it hard to concentrate on the exam. He kept reminding himself that no matter how bad he felt, someone had it worse. _Someone _had it worse than a cut cheek and a confusing love life. _Someone _had it worse than two dead friends, Arthur told himself over and over.

But it didn't really make him feel any better.

**December 18th**

"I hate Thursdays," Michelle grumbled, taking a sip of coffee.

Elizaveta rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it! One day away from freedom." The two friends were in the entry hall, waiting for Mei. People were just beginning to show up for school that morning, as it was still pretty early.

The door opened and a blast of chilly air rushed into the building.

"G'morning, Mathias!" Elizaveta said, smiling. "Where were you?"

"Oh..." He looked confused for a second, then broke into his trademark megawatt smile. "I was sick. Sucks, 'cause I've gotta make up the exams I missed yesterday. But Michelle! I'd like a word with you."

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "Me? Okay, shoot."

"I just got an email, and it was the cast list for Spring Musicale. So I asked Vladimir Lupei, who, as you know, is the Drama Club president this year. I said, 'Hey, Vlad, why didn't ya cast Michelle? From what I hear, she's one hella good actress.' And you know what he said?"

Michelle looked nervous and stunned. Elizaveta was obviously confused.

Mathias grinned. "He told me, 'Oh, Mathias, she never tried out.'" The Dane winked at Elizaveta and headed into the academic hallway.

Elizaveta frowned. "Auditions? Spring Musicale? The day I..."

"You what?" Michelle demanded.

"I stayed after," Elizaveta whispered. "I saw you on Monday afternoon..."

"So you didn't audition!" Michelle exclaimed.

"Well, neither did you!" Elizaveta fired back. "You didn't even tell me you were staying after!"

"Oh my God, Elizaveta!" Michelle yelled. "You're the one who never tells me anything. I swear! Like with Arthur and Matthew saving your life. You never said a thing! Oh, and I know all about—"

"What?" demanded Elizaveta. "You know all about _what_?"

Michelle clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.

"Tell me!" Elizaveta exclaimed. "I thought we were friends! You shouldn't keep secrets from me!"

"Says the person who _lies_ about everything!" Michelle hissed. "I know how many secrets _you're _keeping, Elizaveta. I don't want to be friends. Bella was right. You're a _bitch_!" Michelle flipped her hair over one shoulder, grabbed her bag, and stormed into the hallway, leaving Elizaveta stunned.

* * *

"Ivan, can we talk?"

Ivan looked up from his book. "Oh. Elizaveta? Sure, what is the matter?"

Elizaveta sat next to Ivan's desk. "Everything. I just—okay, I know we aren't exactly best friends, but we got through the vodka thing, so I thought maybe—"

"You can talk to me," Ivan said. "Go on. What's wrong?"

"Thanks." Elizaveta looked down at the floor. "I was talking to Michelle a few minutes ago, and she got really huffy. And she started talking about secrets."

Alarm lit Ivan's eyes. "Maybe she's a secret-keeper. We could get another secret-keeper—maybe Emil or Natalia—to talk to her."

Elizaveta jumped up. "Oh, I know! Michelle said something about Arthur. I should go talk to him!"

Ivan shrugged, looking back down at his book. "Sure. I think he's in the library. You've got fifteen minutes before first bell." Elizaveta thanked Ivan again and rushed into the bright hallway. She noticed Bella.

Michelle had mentioned Bella.

Elizaveta wanted to talk to the Belgian. But it wasn't like she could just stroll up and say, "Hey, Bella, Michelle said you thought I was a bitch."

Instead, Elizaveta walked over to Bella and plastered a smile on her face. "Oh, Bella! That lipstick color is so pretty."

Bella nodded in reply, glancing in the small mirror mounted on her locker. He lips curved into a catlike grin. "Thanks, Elizaveta."

"It's such a bright red," Elizaveta commented. "I'm sure Michelle would love that color, too."

Bella's smile faltered a bit. "Um, yeah. I guess!"

"I mean Michelle's just been acting so weirdly," Elizaveta breezed on. "She happened to mention you earlier today—"

The pleasant smile on Bella's face disappeared and she slammed her locker shut. "Listen," she growled, her accent growing stronger, "you're messing around where you don't belong." Her red lips twisted into a sneer. "Besides, Elizaveta, I'd be a lot better for us—for everyone—if you'd just disappear."

Elizaveta opened her mouth, racking her brain for a reply—for anything—when a hand rested on her shoulder. Elizaveta turned. "Ivan?"

Bella rolled her eyes and began walking down the hall, disappearing.

Ivan's eyes widened. "Are you crying?"

Elizaveta sniffled. "Y-yeah. Anyway, what's up?"

"Arthur stopped by my class a few minutes ago," Ivan said quietly, though no one was listening.

"W-why?" Elizaveta hiccupped.

"He and Kiku and Tino are in the library. You're going to want to see this."

The bell rang.

"We only have five minutes until class starts," Elizaveta protested.

Ivan shook his head. "This is more important, I promise."

"What is it, though?" Elizaveta asked as she and Ivan began walking to the school's Media Center.

Ivan grimaced. "It looks like someone's going to get expelled after all."


	30. House of Cards

_A/N: I'm seriously starting to dislike Dr. Alfher. As if I didn't already._

* * *

**December 18th**

Elizaveta's mind was in a whirl. Michelle and Bella were uncalled for. It wasn't fair to throw in the validation of some bogus expulsion issue on top of everything. She wiped a tear from her eye and followed Ivan into the library.

It was empty. Everyone was in class. Even the librarian was gone. A note was taped to her desk stating that she'd be back around nine.

Someone had pulled multiple chairs up to the largest table near the center of the library. Everyone from Dr. Aflher's meeting was in the room.

Everyone except Ludwig.

A deck of cards sat in the middle of the table.

"What's going on?" Elizaveta asked, doing a quick head count. Fourteen people including her and Ivan. She took a seat next to Arthur. To her dismay, he stood up and moved his chair so he was wedged between Francis and Matthew.

Francis grunted in surprise. "I thought this couldn't get any stranger, but nevertheless, let's begin."

Elizaveta examined the cards, trying to ignore the hurt stinging her from Arthur's rude and obvious behavior. "Hey, Kiku, these are yours, aren't they? You dropped them in the theater the other day. In Dr. Alfher's meeting."

Tino's eyes flew open. "_M-Mitä_! You said nobody would know—"

"I was wrong," Kiku whispered. "So were you."

Elizaveta glanced at Ivan, her brow furrowed in confusion, and he seemed just as lost. "Stop," she ordered. "What's going on? Start from the beginning."

Arthur stood up but didn't meet Elizaveta's eyes. "Now that everyone is here, I will begin. You all know that Tino and Kiku were invited to Dr. Alfher's meeting, even though they didn't have anything to do with Gilbert or Louise. Or at least we _thought_."

"Oh?" Ivan's face registered bewilderment. "So what did they do?"

"Minus the underclassmen, we all remember the day Louise passed away," Francis interrupted. "Just be honest. Who thinks Louise's death was an accident?"

A few people raised their hands.

"I did, too," Francis said. "Until I heard this. Arthur, go on."

Arthur scooped the deck of cards off the table and began thumbing through them until he came to a card. He pulled it out of the deck, holding it up for everyone.

"Let's talk about something. You all probably don't know, but Kiku and Tino used to be huge gamblers."

Emil coughed on his coffee. "Excuse me? Quit joking."

Arthur frowned. "You heard me. And they always used this deck. One of the cards has a rip in it, which they used to cheat."

"I knew there was something weird about that!" Elizaveta gasped. "But how's this important?"

"Tino and Kiku challenged Louise to so many various betting games. But they always won, because they had the cheating deck," Francis cut in. "Over time, she accumulated over three thousand US dollars of debt."

Murmuring spread through the table, and Lilli cried out in surprise.

"As an _eighth grader_?" Natalia asked skeptically. "No way."

"Three thousand is impossible," Ivan agreed.

"I'm with the Commie on this one," Alfred said. "That's one heck of a loot. It's a bit much for a thirteen-year-old."

"You guys weren't really going to make her pay it, were you?" Lukas questioned from across the table. "Surely you all were joking."

"I... no." Tino folded his hands across his lap. "No! But she kept coming back. She kept saying, 'I have to beat you all.' And she wouldn't let it go. So over the months and months..." the Finnish student trailed off, his lip quivering.

"You should've just let her win," Ivan said. "Before things got bad. You didn't have to cheat."

"Like you're any better," Tino replied listlessly. "Besides, we didn't mean for it to go that far. I truly believe she killed herself."

"Bastard!" Lovino exclaimed. "You're all idiots!"

Lukas narrowed his eyes. "That story doesn't make any sense. First of all—though I know I shouldn't label—Kiku and Tino seem pretty harmless. Secondly, if Louise was such a huge gambler, you would think she'd notice that the deck of cards was rigged with something as obvious as a torn card. Last of all, it seems a bit drastic that she ended her life over that. Though I'm not saying it _wasn't_ a suicide..."

"Those are excellent points," Arthur acknowledged. "However—"

Elizaveta couldn't focus. As disheartening, terrifying, and _wrong _as she found Louise's gambling issues and debt, she could only think of Michelle. They'd been friends since Michelle had moved to the US. They took beach vacations together. They'd had so many sleepovers, shopping trips, and after-school study groups. And that memorable April Fool's when they'd swapped Mei's St. Ives facial scrub with oatmeal...

"Elizaveta," Emil said. "What do you think?"

The Hungarian jumped, then sighed. "There's something strange happening around the school. Friends are turning on friends. People aren't behaving like they should." Her voice became distant. "This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. We might be the next victims!"

Arthur snorted. "This isn't a horror movie, for God's sake."

Elizaveta laughed. "Life is a horror movie. Life is one terrible scene after another and there's no way to end it."

"You sound... sound..." Lilli hesitated. "Are you okay, Eliza?"

Bella's words rang in Elizaveta's ears. _It would be better if you just disappeared. _

"I'm fine," she said dully.

"Obviously not," snapped Arthur. "Girls are so cagey. Just answer the question."

"Arthur, what's wrong with you? Why are you angry with me?" Elizaveta challenged.

Matthew stood up, and a few people jumped in surprise. "Calm down, everyone, we can—"

"Maybe if you didn't go around trash-talking me to everyone!" Arthur hissed back.

"What?" Elizaveta asked, her voice dropping several volume levels.

"Please," Feliciano interrupted. "Everything will be okay!"

Arthur yelled in frustration and swatted the deck of cards on the table. They scattered and flew everywhere, fluttering to the ground in a hurricane of spades and clubs. The torn card landed by Elizaveta's shoe. "You don't tell someone you hate them and then give them roses. You just _don't_!"

Francis inhaled sharply. "_What_?"

"Stop stop stop _STOP_," Kiku pleaded as the group erupted into shouting.

That's how it was when the librarian, Ms. Atlantis, walked in. "What in God's name?"

Everyone fell silent, realizing immediately how bad the situation was. They were all supposed to be in class. They were supposed to be taking their _finals_. And here they were, skipping in the library, shouting and arguing in the wreckage of a deck of cards.

"Oh, dear," Ms. Atlantis said, setting down her coffee and shuffling over to the disgruntled group. "Okay, okay, let's all go to Dr. Alfher's. He'll be able to help you all with whatever's going on."

Alarmed silence.

"I don't think that's necessary," Arthur finally said. "R-really, Ms. Atlantis, we're sorry—"

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Counselors are supposed to help you with these kinds of things. Really. Come on, follow me, everyone."

* * *

The fourteen students sat outside Dr. Alfher's office—some in chairs and some on the floor—while Ms. Atlantis was inside, talking to the counselor about what she had seen.

"We don't have much time," Lukas said. He, of course, was still thinking logically. "Say everything you know. Hurry. Things aren't looking good for any of us."

Arthur raised his hand tentatively, and Lukas nodded. "Okay," Arthur began. "Yesterday evening, Kiku called me. He told me all about Louise and the gambling and how Dr. Alfher was probably suspecting him. Thank goodness you all showed up to the last-minute meeting a few seconds ago."

"I'm sorry, Tino," Kiku said, his voice as shaky as a wisp of smoke. "I just... I couldn't do it. I'm sorry."

Tino shrugged. "I understand. Secrets can't stay buried forever." Then he turned, addressing the group. "But I would like to say, it wasn't just Kiku and me. This school has a really bad gambling reputation, did you all know? No? Well, it's pretty select. Mostly at the parties and such. It's fine if you didn't know about it. Anyway, like I said, it wasn't just Kiku and me duping Louise. There were two other people, too."

"Who?" Ivan asked, his violet eyes narrowed.

"_That_ we shouldn't share," Kiku said.

"Hmm. Okay," Lukas said thoughtfully. "Anyone have anything else to say?"

"Michelle and Bella are being very rude and strange," Elizaveta said. "I don't know what to do."

Francis closed his eyes. "I'm sure they have some degree of knowledge of everything that's going on." He was careful not to mention the Confidants' Club directly, Elizaveta noticed. "When I was at the dance with Michelle, she did act somewhat differently. I guess Bella must know, too."

"This is fine and dandy," Lovino said, "but how did _you _get on the list, Bondevik?"

"Eh?" Lukas looked up from his phone, seemingly disinterested. "Guilty by association, I assume."

"No dirty secrets, then?" Ivan pressed.

Lukas started directly into Ivan's eyes, something most people would not be able to do. "If there were, I'm sure you'd know them by now." He looked back down at his phone.

Ivan snorted. "Uh-huh?"

There was silence until Lukas spoke again. "Hmm... then again, I've always been one to take secrets to the grave."


	31. Of Roses and Tulips

_A/N: A reviewer asked if I could refresh everyone's plot memories. Feel free to skip this. We know that Alfred is gay and Natalia is his secret-keeper. Ivan bullied Gilbert, and his secret-keeper is Emil. Francis got drunk on Elizaveta's/Anya's/Ivan's vodka. Lovino knows. Mathias is bipolar, Arthur watched Louise die in spite, Matthew 'led' Gilbert on and then rejected him, and Elizaveta distributed her aunt's alcohol stash, but we don't know their secret-keepers yet. As for Antonio? I guess we'll see soon._

* * *

**December 18th**

Arthur made sure to text Mathias and Antonio and tell them what was happening. And nothing good was. Dr. Alfher dismissed Ms. Atlantis back to the library and moved the group into an empty classroom. Everyone sat down quickly and quietly. _Nervously._

"So," Dr. Alfher said, pacing the front of the room. Everyone stared at the floor or the ceiling. Anywhere but at the counselor who held their fate in his hands. "Forgive me, but I'm having just a bit of confusion on understanding how you all behave. You know you're being watched by the administrators, and here you go, making yourselves such obvious targets. Elaborate."

"_Monsieur_," Francis spoke up. "This isn't what you think it is. We—"

Dr. Alfher interrupted coldly. "I see that everyone I called to the Monday meeting was in the library—except for Ludwig. Where, may I ask, is he?"

"He is unassociated," Arthur broke in. "Please do not involve him in this. Even if you must expel all of us, remember what Ludwig has gone through, and leave him be. However—" Arthur inhaled deeply. "I ask that you please remember what we—what all of us—have gone through. I'd like you to know that while Ludwig lost a brother, we lost a friend. That is tragic, too. So please, I'm begging that you consider the feelings of other people—of _us_—just a little. Of what others have lost. Don't just care about the punishment or the justice. Think about everyone you're affecting and quit trying to blame us every second. We may have made mistakes, but we're sorry. _I'm_ sorry."

The room went silent, and Dr. Alfher froze, his right eyebrow raised in surprise. Arthur was taken aback himself. He hadn't expected his speech to be so eloquent. So... calm.

Elizaveta teared up. She was sitting in the back, but Arthur's words left her with a feeling of admiration and affection. Even if he was mad at her for no apparent reason.

Arthur stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to my first class and see if I can arrange to make up my final with minimal punishment."

The entire room watched the Brit gather his things and head slowly for the closed door. Arthur had just touched the doorknob when Dr. Alfher seemed to shake himself from his daze. "Arthur. Stop."

Arthur didn't turn around. "I understand if you're going to punish me."

There was a long silence.

"That's not it," Dr. Alfher finally said. "I was going to write you a pass. I'll write you all passes. They'll say that you were with me, and you'll be exempt from the final you're missing right now."

"All of us?" Arthur asked incredulously. "Why?"

"Well, Mr. Kirkland..." Dr. Alfher chuckled slightly. "I think you all have been through enough for the time being."

* * *

At lunch that day, Elizaveta bravely walked up to the table where Arthur, Francis, and Alfred were sitting. Dr. Alfher had been merciful. This didn't mean everything was back to normal again, Dr. Alfher had made sure to clarify. It just meant that he understood they were going through a lot.

Elizaveta cleared her throat. Alfred noticed her first. "Oh, hey, dude. What's up?"

"I need to talk with Arthur," Elizaveta said, frowning.

Arthur turned around. "Oh, hello," he mumbled neutrally. "You hate me? Love me? Honestly, I'm kind of over it."

Francis hit Arthur over the head with his lunch bag. "You rude disgrace! Talk to her."

Alfred snickered. "Hey, you two should go to the library. Talk in there, and see if Matthew's hanging with the homophobic Commie again."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm not a spy. Geez."

Francis waved a hand at his friend. "Channel the energy you used for that beautiful speech earlier and put it in all of your bland words. Now, you two, go to the library. Alfred and I will be fine here. But do check for Matthew. I'd like to know why he hasn't been sitting with us lately."

"I'm _not _an orator!" Arthur threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, Elizaveta. Let's go." He turned scarlet and hurried out of the cafeteria.

Bella passed them in the nearly empty hall, and Elizaveta froze.

"Hello, Bella," Arthur said evenly. His voice was devoid of emotion, like a cloudy night when you can't see any stars.

"Good afternoon," the Belgian girl replied placidly. "Hoping for snow?"

"No, I—" Arthur looked up and froze, just as Elizaveta had. "No, no," he finished hastily. "I'll see you around." He grabbed Elizaveta's wrist and hurried her down the hallway in the direction of the library, his heart racing.

"What's wrong?" Elizaveta asked once Bella disappeared into the cafeteria.

"Her lipstick!"

"Oh, I noticed it this morning," Elizaveta commented. "It's super bright, isn't it? I mean, if your lipstick is _too _red, it kind of makes you look cheap, right?"

Arthur wasn't thinking about the general modesty of lipstick colors. He was thinking of how Bella's lips—a color he could only describe as Russian Red—would double perfectly as a marker. He thought about the note in his locker.

_MURDERER. _

Elizaveta had said Bella was behaving strangely. Francis had backed her up. And this... Arthur was suddenly absolutely positive that Bella was his secret-keeper. With this new information, Arthur suddenly felt as if he were treading water instead of drowning in it. If Bella was capable of the cruelty of leaving an anonymous note in his locker, what else might she do? Leave roses...?

Arthur got it. "Elizaveta, you didn't put any flowers in my locker, right?"

"I didn't."

"And you didn't write me any letters, either?"

"Nope." Elizaveta shook her head, her wavy brown hair tumbling down her back. "But you got something, right? Is that why you were angry?"

Arthur sighed. "Right. I thought you left me a rose in my locker. I thought you were messing with me. But it wasn't you." Arthur quickly explained to Elizaveta the circumstances surrounding the rose, the note, and the lipstick letter. Elizaveta promised to help him confront Bella about the secret—if, she emphasized, that was what he _wanted. _It was. And if he was sure Bella was his secret-keeper. (And, again, he was.) They shifted to other topics as they entered the library.

"I still can't believe Dr. Alfher didn't expel any of us," Arthur said, surveying the room for any signs of Ivan or Matthew. A rather nervous Ms. Atlantis waved to them, but that was it.

"What makes you say that? He hasn't proved anything yet."

"Yes, but when Kiku called me yesterday, he said he was positive Dr. Alfher was on his case. His and Tino's. And so I called that meeting this morning. I must admit, I'm surprised everyone showed up. But I didn't really think anyone was going to get expelled... not today, at least. Why? Did you?"

Elizaveta felt flustered. "Um, I don't know. That's just what Ivan told me when we were going to the library."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Actually, I'll take back what I just said. I almost thought Kiku was going to confess in that classroom a few hours ago, which probably _would _have gotten him some kind of punishment. I was wrong. But it's okay. I wish we could all just move along from this. Louise and Gilbert."

"You know," Elizaveta said suddenly, "Louise died four days before my birthday."

"We were going—" Arthur stopped. He had almost said _We were going to get your birthday present, _but probably wasn't the most sensitive comment to make. But Elizaveta just nodded. "Yeah. I know. Gilbert stopped by my house on my birthday to celebrate. We were going to see a movie. But we ended up just staying home, crying, and eating nearly the entire fridge while watching television reruns. Then Gilbert told me he had this crush on Louise. I offered him my shoulder, Arthur, and he cried so much that I had to go change my shirt."

"Why didn't you just send him home?"

"He was so upset. I cared about him." Elizaveta picked a book off a shelf and pretended to study the cover. "Besides, I liked Louise. I was genuinely sad. I still am."

"I hope nothing like that ever happens to you," blurted Arthur. "Also, I hope you know that I really care about you. Um, I'm awfully confused right now. And trust me, that dance last week did not improve matters. Just look what happened to Matthew! I said some stuff I didn't mean that day. Francis says I'm infatuated with you. I don't think so. I just..." Arthur covered his face with his hands. He was an idiot. "I'm just terribly fond of you."

"We should go find Matthew and Ivan," Elizaveta said.

Arthur blinked. Had he just imagined that blundering, stupid speech? "R-right, let's go..."

How embarrassing.

* * *

The day was over.

Arthur sighed and opened his locker.

Something fell out, and Arthur cursed. He did not want any more rude notes or fake love confessions or _anything._

The object was a flower, but not a rose. A tulip. There was a note attached to this flower, too, and Arthur recognized Elizaveta's handwriting—her real handwriting.

_Arthur, I'm 'terribly fond' of you, too. Starbucks at 3:30?_

And an actual signature - not a set of initials or a printed name—marked the bottom.

_Elizaveta_ _Héderváry_


	32. Brainstorming

_A/N: Finals are truly approaching... yikes. I hope everyone who has them does well. Enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

**December 18th**

"Denmark, huh?" Antonio asked Mathias. The last bell had just sounded, and students were rushing out of classrooms and attempting to leave the building as quickly as possible, causing the daily 3:20 PM stampede. The two Club members were standing by Mathias' locker. They hadn't shared any classes that day, but both had received Arthur's text updates about the squabble in the library and Dr. Alfher's spontaneous pardon.

"Leaving tomorrow," Mathias sighed. "Could you hold this? Thanks. What was I saying? Oh, right. I guess I'm excited. Holidays with the family."

"But you won't have time to find your secret-keeper," Antonio said.

"I know. I guess I've accepted it." Mathias looked up at Antonio, his blue eyes staring steadily into green ones. "I'm really sorry about the other day."

"That's okay!" Antonio exclaimed quickly. "It's really fine. Arthur isn't mad, either."

"He's still got that bandage on his face," Mathias insisted. His eyes were agonized and he was clearly brooding. "It's my fault."

Antonio drew in a breath. "Mathias... your mother told us—Arthur and me, that is—that you're... um... bipolar." He prepared himself for an angry tirade, but instead, Mathias nodded calmly. "I am," the Dane replied matter-of-factly. "I don't like it, but it's beyond my control. I had forgotten to take my medication. Stress and all. I know it's no excuse, but that might be why I was so upset earlier this week. Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do," Antonio said.

Mathias grinned. "Great!" A shadow passed over his face, but he seemed to shake it off. "So, are you going to be up until, like, two in the morning studying for the last finals we've got tomorrow?"

"I..." Antonio paused. "Screw it! Mathias, clear your schedule. We're going somewhere."

"We are?" Mathias asked, clearly mystified. "Where?"

"We're going to find your secret-keeper before you leave for Denmark tomorrow. Let's do our best!"

* * *

Arthur pushed open the door to Starbucks with his fingers crossed. The aroma of coffee soothed him, but he couldn't stop thinking worrisome thoughts, even though he kept telling himself to calm down. _Elizaveta better have given me that tulip. If it was Bella or someone and I end up looking like a fool again, I swear... _

"Arthur! Over here." Arthur turned, and in that moment, the tension in his chest released, and he smiled.

"Hey, Elizaveta. How are you?" His smile was radiant. His eyes were _sparkling_ again. It was really her.

She'd really left him the tulip.

They ordered coffee and found a table near the back of the place. When Arthur asked Elizaveta how she managed to get a tulip in the middle of the school day, she'd laughed and said that it was fake and that she'd had it sitting in the back of her locker for a while after doing a report on Hungary for history class. Not many people, she added, knew that the tulip was Hungary's national flower, too. And it was her favorite. They spent hours talking about everything except the Confidants' Club or anyone's secrets. Instead, they chatted about lighter topics—their home countries, holiday traditions, lame jokes, music, movies—and though Arthur wasn't sure if Elizaveta's definition of 'terribly fond' meant that he was a friend or _more_ than a friend, he couldn't care less at that moment.

* * *

Antonio groaned and rested his head on the kitchen table. "This is hopeless."

"Not hopeless. Just difficult," Lukas Bondevik replied, leafing through the yearbook. "Now, Mathias, you're sure it isn't Berwald Oxenstierna, the senior?"

The three juniors were at Mathias' house. When Mathias told Lukas about his issue, Lukas had nodded calmly and respectfully and then offered to help him and Antonio with their research. Which was good, because they had less than twenty-four hours, and Lukas' intelligence and rational thought would be a big help. They had already explained everything to him—the Confidants' Club, Gilbert's letter, the secrets—and the Norwegian was taking it all in icy, emotionless stride.

Said Norwegian took a sip of Coke and looked at Mathias curiously. "This morning, Elizaveta seemed to be upset with Michelle. I asked her about it, and she mentioned you. Do you have any idea of what she was talking about?"

"Oh, that." Mathias looked pained. "I'd no idea I was going to make things so bad. You see, on Monday, I found out that Michelle was staying after to audition for the Spring Musicale. Then, this morning, Vladimir Lupei emailed me the list of people the Drama Club had decided to cast. He said since I'd been in Drama Club last year, he thought I'd be interested. Michelle wasn't on it. I inquired, and Vlad said she hadn't even tried out. Which lead me to believe that Michelle had just stayed after on Monday to spy on the people participating in Dr. Alfher's meeting—like you, Lukas. Anyway, I dropped a hint about this to Elizaveta this morning, and she and Michelle must've had some sort of fallout. I was just trying to tip Elizaveta off that Michelle may know more than we think she does. It seems that way."

Lukas nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed. "You know," he finally said, "you are pretty smart."

Antonio rubbed his forehead as if a headache was beginning to creep up on him. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Which part?"

"Monday. Spanish Club had a meeting. I was supposed to bring a traditional Spanish dish, but I realized I forgot it at home. They let me run home and get it, since I only live about two minutes from school. So I went to get the dish around, oh, 3:35? And at that time, I saw Michelle's car pulling out of the parking lot. She was going home. If she knew about Dr. Alfher's meeting, she was clearly expecting someone to be there who _wasn't,_ which is why she went home," Antonio explained.

"The Confidants' Club," Mathias said suddenly. "There are only two people in the Confidants' Club who weren't put on Dr. Alfher's suspect list—you and me, Antonio. Michelle might have been waiting for one of us. Who _else _would she be expecting?"

Lukas looked baffled. "What do you mean?"

Mathias tried to explain. "Antonio said he saw Michelle leaving school around 3:35. We already know she lied about auditioning for the Spring Musicale, thanks to Vladimir. But why lie about something like that?"

"Go on," Lukas encouraged. "You both seem to be on a brilliant train of thought."

"Like I said, I think she lied about auditioning for the Musicale so that she'd have an excuse to stay after school and 'spy' on Dr. Alfher's meeting in the theater. But if she went home as early as Antonio says she did, then that isn't the case. I believe that she saw who was actually in the meeting, lost interest, and went home. I think someone who she _wanted_ to be there wasn't." Mathias glanced at Antonio, and he nodded. "Same."

"You two think she's a secret-keeper, then," Lukas simplified.

Mathias looked at the bowl of fruit sitting in the middle of the table. "It's worth a shot, anyway."

"Certainly," Lukas agreed, standing up. "Well, why don't we give Michelle a call?"


	33. The Outcast

_A/N: Don't you hate it when FanFiction knows you better than you know yourself? Like, a few months ago, it kept showing adds to buy the DVD of 'Hetalia: Beautiful World!' Now it keeps showing me figure skating adds and I keep freaking out. Very sneaky, FanFiction. Very sneaky._

* * *

**December 18th**

Matthew was sitting in his room with his headphones on, reviewing his chemistry notes and rocking out to the Arctic Monkeys CD Arthur had lent him. The music paused and his computer let out an alert message, and Matthew saw the email icon appear at the top of his laptop screen. He clicked on it.

To: Matthew Williams

Subject: Mathias Is Okay

Hey, Matthew, guess what!? We called Michelle Mancham and it turns out SHE is Mathias' secret-keeper! He's leaving for Denmark TOMORROW, so we're VERY happy that we were able to figure this out before catastrophic disaster ensued! Hope all's well with you. Hope you find your secret-keeper soon. If you need help, let us know. Best wishes.

-Antonio

Matthew sighed in relief. Well, that was _one _issue off the plate. Matthew still wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but if Mathias had found his secret-keeper and was doing okay, that was great. Now if only he could fix some of his _own _problems. Francis, Arthur, and Alfred clearly did not approve of Matthew's new friendship with Ivan (though who could blame them?), most of the eleventh grade still believed he was gay, and Dr. Alfher was making matters about two hundred percent worse. Some counselor he was.

Sighing, the Canadian pulled his notebook out of his backpack and flipped to an empty page.

_Dear Maddie,_

_It's me again. Mathias just found his secret-keeper. I don't have much to say other than that. This Arctic Monkeys album is great. I hope Arthur isn't still mad at me. He got upset with me yesterday when I asked him what happened to his face. Hope things go back to normal soon. Well..._

_-Sincerely, your cousin, Matthew _

* * *

"I'm going home now," Lukas said, standing up. "Well done, guys. I'm glad we were able to sort that out."

Mathias shook his head, still dumbfounded. "It was her the whole time. When I called her, I was all, 'Hey, do you know about a secret?' At least she was so cool about it. At least she didn't make a big deal of it. I had actually given up on finding her, you know. Thanks, guys. Thanks so much. I owe you both one."

Lukas' mouth twitched. "Buy me a cookie and it'll make up for it. Anyway, I knew it was her the whole time."

Mathias stuck his tongue out in a childlike manner. "Did not."

"Did so," Lukas replied levelly. "But I wanted to see you two figure it out for yourselves. How wondrous, to help teach you both something... well, I'm off."

Antonio turned to Mathias once they heard the front door close. "He's a very interesting person."

Mathias laughed. "Right? Those damn emotionless scientists, always tiptoeing around with information and knowing everything. But I'm glad we had one around today."

**December 19th**

"You ready for this?" Elizaveta asked, peeking her head around the corner. She flipped her hair over one shoulder and stepped into the hallway. "Hey, Bella!"

The Belgian blonde turned and smiled uneasily. "Oh, hi, Elizaveta. Good morning. Are you ready for class? What's up?"

Arthur forced a smile. "Hi. We were just hoping we—I mean, I—could talk to you about something. Are you familiar with the suicide notes of Gilbert Beilschmidt? Oh, you are? Wonderful, this'll make things so much easier. Listen, I was just hoping I could bite the bullet and tell you that I know you're my secret-keeper."

Bella seemed to deflate. "Oh, thank God! It took you long enough. Dropping hints—oh, Arthur, I'm sorry about leaving the note. And Elizaveta, I'm sorry about what I said to you. You're a very sweet, very pretty girl, and if you disappeared, I'd certainly be heartsick." She flashed a winning smile. "So we're all good?"

"Wait," Elizaveta interjected. "Why'd you say anything, then? And were you the one who left the note and the rose and stuff in Arthur's locker?"

Bella bit her lip, which was a sheer peach color that day. Her cat-like mouth twisted into a slight frown. "Yes, I'm sorry. Gilbert sent me a text the day before he..." Bella drew a single French-manicured fingernail across her throat, green eyes wide. "You know. Anyway, he said I'd have to start sharing Arthur's secret by Christmas if he hadn't approached me. I was never that close with Louise, but I couldn't stand the thought of letting that secret out! But it had been about two weeks, and Arthur, you showed no signs of approaching me yet. So I started dropping hints. I started acting abnormal in the hopes that you guys would notice."

"Why around me, though?" Elizaveta asked, though she could understand most of Bella's reasoning.

Bella grinned warmly. "Well, sweetie, I picked up on the fact that you and Arthur had something going on. I was kind of hoping that if I hurt your feelings, you'd mention something to him. I didn't mean what I said, though, and I can only hope you'll forgive me."

Arthur sighed. "This is such a relief. You have no idea. I'm going to set my stuff in homeroom. I'll be right back."

Bella and Elizaveta watched him walk away, and then Bella turned to Elizaveta, pressing a slip of paper in her hand. "My phone number, dear. You need anything, give me a call. Don't worry about it. And I truly am I sorry. I just wanted you and Arthur to figure it out." She smiled her catty smile again. "Are we okay?"

That grin was infectious, and Elizaveta felt herself smiling, too—half relieved, half happy. Arthur's secret was absolutely safe. One less person hated her. And even if Bella had seemed mean, she had genuinely been trying to help Elizaveta and Arthur.

"Yes," Elizaveta said. "We're perfect."

* * *

Antonio sat in his first class that day, uncomfortable and filled with dread. He'd finished his exam and was just sitting there, staring out the window and listening to the sounds of tapping pencils and the teacher typing at her desk.

He wasn't worried about the exam—he'd studied his ass off for that, definitely—but what had happened the previous day was weighing him down.

Not the fact that Mathias had found his secret-keeper. No, that was a wonderful thing. He really deserved it.

But Antonio was thinking about himself. He didn't belong in the Confidants' Club. He was a liar.

Sure, the other people in the Confidants' Club were liars, too. Liars, gays, drunks, and gay drunks. People who'd witnessed suicide and done nothing. Vodka dealers. Bullies. People with mental disorders. He was just as bad as those on Dr. Alfher's list, too. Gamblers and self-righteous homophobes and people who were so wrapped up with their reputation that they were willing stack up lies until things didn't make sense anymore.

But he was not a liar in the way _they_ were.

Gilbert had given Antonio a special letter. A special _job._ The job of overseeing everything—the Confidants' Club, the disastrous events that were sure to happen in the aftermath of Gilbert's actions, and the secrets that would begin tangling up and strangling people.

Antonio did not have a definite secret.

And that itself was almost as bad as being a true member of the Confidants' Club.

Why?

_They'll hate me, _Antonio thought, resting his head on his desk. _The other members of the Confidants' Club will realize I've been lying this whole time. I'm definitely supposed to be in the group with them, I know that for sure. But Gilbert told me to supervise them. To watch them. When they realize I don't have a secret and a secret-keeper like they do, they're going to hate me. They're going to hate me as much as they'd be hated if a normal person found out their secrets..._


	34. Abandonment

_A/N: America fans, sorry for this chapter! Oh, and I previously mentioned that Peter and Kaelin were Arthur's siblings (I think). They make another appearance here._

* * *

**December 19th **

"Happy Friday," Arthur said, sitting down at the usual lunch table. Francis was already sitting there, scanning over a paragraph in one of his textbooks, but he closed it when he heard Arthur sitting down. "Hello."

Arthur reached into his bag for his lunch, trying to distract himself with a clementine, but he couldn't help noticing Francis' amused facial expression. It was almost as if the blond could barely suppress a smile, or was going to start laughing uncontrollably at any moment.

"What?" Arthur demanded, stabbing his thumbnail into the clementine's peel. "What's so funny?"

"My dear, dear friend," Francis cooed, laughing. "I _know _you got coffee with Elizaveta yesterday. Nice. I also got a text from her this morning, wherein she said Bella was your secret-keeper and you two figured that whole situation out."

"That's not all," Arthur replied. "Matthew forwarded me an email from Antonio last night, and apparently Michelle is Mathias' secret-keeper."

Francis looked confused. "Well, that's lovely, but did anyone ever figure out Mathias' secret?"

Arthur's mind instantly went to his face and the bandage on his cheek. "Um..."

To Arthur's relief, Alfred appeared at that moment, setting his stuff on the floor and sitting down. "Guess what, guys? Apparently, Matthew is going to be eating in the library from now on. Every day. With Ivan. Dude, this sucks."

Francis and Alfred had a quick conversation about how tragic that was, but Arthur could sense that Francis hadn't forgotten what they'd been talking about before Alfred had shown up. Arthur turned to Francis and gave the tiniest shake of his head and an apologetic look—_Sorry, I can't tell you_—and Francis responded with an almost noncommittal shrug, as if to say, _It's fine. _

* * *

The final bell rang.

"Christmas Break!" someone shouted, and every student in the class stood up, rushing out the door to holiday lights and gingerbread men and freedom.

Antonio stood up slowly. He saw Mathias, who was rising calmly and putting his pencils and binder into his backpack carefully. Antonio knew Mathias would be on a plane to Europe in a few hours, most likely relieved that he'd discovered his secret-keeper. It had probably made his week. Antonio wanted desperately to walk over to the Dane and talk. But he didn't want to delay or bother Mathias.

After all, it was _Antonio's _job to keep everyone calm and in line. Why should Mathias have to comfort him?

Mathias turned and saw Antonio standing there. He waved and smiled. "Thank you. Have a nice break!"

Antonio waved back, grabbed his things, and left.

* * *

The fire in the living room of the Kirkland's house was blazing. Arthur felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He was resting on one of the creamy leather couches in front of the fireplace, eyes closed. Kaelin, his six-year-old sister, was telling him about the Christmas cookies she was planning to bake, and Peter was watching television a few feet away. Even though it was fairly ordinary, Arthur felt great because his secret was safe and school was finally out for two weeks.

And he was finally starting to come to peace with the whole Louise situation.

"Are you listening to me?" Kaelin demanded, poking her seventeen-year-old brother's cheek—the uninjured one. "You're _sleeping_!"

Arthur chuckled. He'd been eleven when they'd moved to the US, so he still had his accent. Kaelin, though, had been just a baby—maybe one or two—so she had an American way of speaking.

"Now you're _laughing _at me! Mom!"

"Wasn't doing anything, Mum," Arthur chuckled, but he opened his eyes. "Okay, Kaelin, you have my undivided attention. Keep talking."

"Good," Kaelin said, then resumed her story about using chocolate chips to make eyes for the Santa cookies.

Arthur's phone rang. "Hold on one minute," Arthur said, pulling it out of his pocket and sitting up. "Hello?"

"Who is it?" Peter asked, lowering the volume of the television and turning to look at his brother. Arthur shushed him. "Alfred? What's the matter? Yeah, I know it's Friday. I can't understand what you're saying."

"It's Alfred?" Peter exclaimed. "Oh my God, I love Alfred! I haven't seen him since you went to that dance thing last week. Alfred stopped by and you were _crying _in your room and wouldn't let me in. Remember? Remember?!" he said loudly. "He'd be a really awesome brother! Right, Kae?"

Kaelin giggled, and Arthur waved a hand. "You both shut up. Go help Mum with dinner or something. Sorry, Alfred. What is it?"

"Listen," Alfred said. Arthur could barely make out his voice. "Can I come over to your house? Right now?"

"Sure," Arthur said apprehensively, and the call went dead.

"What did Alfred want?" Peter practically shouted into Arthur's ear.

"He's coming over," Arthur said, swinging his legs over the couch and standing up. "Be quiet. You're too loud for an eight-year-old."

Arthur had to listen to Peter jumping around and singing praises about Alfred for two minutes until Alice Kirkland rushed over, told her son to quiet down, and offered to take Kaelin and Peter to the bookstore.

"Can we get coffee, too?" Kaelin asked excitedly. Arthur shot his mother a grateful look as the other members of the family cleared out of the house. Arthur's father, Allistor Kirkland, probably wouldn't be home for another hour, so Arthur had the house to himself.

At 6:00 on the dot, the doorbell rang.

Arthur tore his eyes away from the glowing fireplace, stood up, and opened the front door.

Alfred stood there, carrying his beat-up, pin-covered messenger bag, his laptop bag, and his suitcase. "Hey."

"Uh... may I ask what's happening? Why do you look like you've just run away from home? And..." Arthur looked out the open door. "Did you _walk_ here? In this cold?"

"It was only eleven blocks," Alfred said, his teeth chattering. "I didn't run away from home. I—" he broke off, sniffling. "Sorry."

Something awful occurred to Arthur. "You were saying something on the phone about how today is Friday... and didn't you tell me on Tuesday or whenever that you'd..." Arthur's stomach dropped as he took in the meaning of Alfred's bags, his carless state, the rattled look in his blue eyes. "You didn't run away from home," he echoed.

"I got kicked out," Alfred whispered.

Arthur stood there for a moment. Alfred seemed very far away. "Come again?"

"I told my parents today," Alfred said emotionlessly, "just like I said I would. And I got kicked out."

"For the weekend," Arthur said, unwilling to believe. _Unable_ to believe. "For the break."

"Forever."

"I... I don't..." Arthur struggled for words. "Are you..."

"Can I stay here, just for tonight?" Alfred asked. "I'm sorry, but I really don't have anywhere else to go—"

"Yes," Arthur said quickly. "Holy—of course. Come inside. Warm up." He was getting choked up. Sure, Alfred had stressed that his parents weren't the most accepting people. For God's sake, he'd compared his parents to the Braginsky family. But Arthur had never imagined something to this extent. How could Amelia Jones, who was basically a female Alfred with a motherly streak, let this happen? _How_...? Arthur felt even worse about what he'd told Alfred some days before.

_'Your parents love you.'_

"Alfred—"

The American was sitting on the couch closest to the fireplace, staring at the fire with unblinking eyes. He was acting like Lukas Bondevik—quiet and remote. Any happiness or peace Arthur had felt earlier was gone, replaced with a sense of deep sorrow. There was _no way... Dammit..._

"Sit with me," Alfred said blankly.

Arthur did. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Alfred shook his head, his eyes still on the fire. "I really, really wanted them to accept me," he said suddenly. "I really wanted things to stay the same."

"I'm sorry..."

"Yeah. Me too."

Arthur held back tears. He remembered when he'd lost it in front of Alfred just before the Winter Soirée. Alfred had been calm and encouraging. But Arthur was having a difficult time being comforting. He wanted to. He _really _wanted to ease Alfred's pain. But he didn't know what to say. He just sat there next to Alfred.

They stared at the fire and said nothing, shocked into silence.


	35. Case Closed

_A/N: It is 2015. That is just crazy to me. I'd like to thank you all for your support throughout the story. I love you! Cheers to 2015!_

* * *

**December 20th **

To:

Natalia Arlovskaya / Lukas Bondevik / Francis Bonnefoy / Ivan Braginsky / Elizaveta Héderváry / Kiku Honda / Alfred Jones / Arthur Kirkland / Emil Steilsson / Tino Väinämöinen / Feliciano Vargas / Lovino Vargas / Matthew Williams / Lilli Zwingli

CC: Ludwig Beilschmidt

Subject: Happy Holidays

Recently, the Beilschmidt family has approached me and expressed concern about everyone who is receiving this email. Mrs. Beilschmidt wishes to disclose that she never asked for the school faculty to become involved with Gilbert's death, so for that, I apologize. She has also requested for all of this questioning and searching to stop. So it is. Your actions are no longer being monitored, and due to Mrs. Beilschmidt's request, you have all been deemed 'innocent.' This ordeal is over. Though I am convinced that some of you—if not all of you—had more than a little involvement with Gilbert Beilschmidt, I shall keep it to myself. You no longer need to worry about anything. Further investigations regarding Louise Canella's death have also been halted. Please have a safe and happy holiday season.

-Dr. Alfher

_10:18 AM - Ivan Braginsky: Did you get Dr. Alfher's email?_

_10:19 AM - Natalia Arlovskaya: IVAN! YOU UNBLOCKED MY NUMBER? LET'S HANG OUT! WHERE ARE YOU? _

_10:19 AM - _Natalia Arlovskaya_ has been blocked and all messages from _Natalia Arlovskaya_ will be hidden._

* * *

"Alfred? Are you awake?" Arthur knocked on the door.

"Yeah, come inside."

Arthur pushed open the door of the guest room Alfred was staying in. He had all of his stuff in one corner. To Arthur's surprise, the bed was made, and Alfred was sitting in the window seat, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, reading a book. Light rain sprinkled down from the dark sky. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. Thanks for letting me stay here. I'll be leaving in about an hour."

Arthur frowned. "Where are you going? Friend? Relative?"

"Um... I'm not sure..." Alfred closed his book and stood up. "I guess I'll find somewhere to stay."

"You don't have anywhere to go?!" Arthur blurted.

Alfred looked out the window, watching raindrops splatter on the glass. "Nope."

"Stay here!" Arthur exclaimed. "You can stay here."

"I can't. It'd be asking too much of your family, Iggy. I can't bother you guys like that."

_"Alfred," _snapped Arthur. "Really, you can—"

A gentle knock on the door, barely louder than the drizzle outside, interrupted the speech Arthur was about to give. "Come in," he grumbled.

Alice Kirkland stood in the doorway, holding a tray of tea and disgusting, blackened pastries. The look on her face was of deep anguish and sympathy. "Alfred," she said, "I do hope you don't mind, but Arthur told me yesterday what happened to you. I apologize for eavesdropping on your conversation, but I'd like to say that you're welcome—more than welcome—to stay here as long as you need to. Allistor has also agreed." She set the tray down on a side table and exited the room, closing the door.

Arthur, fighting a smile—his mum was so amazing—turned to Alfred. "Well?"

The Brit barely had time to prepare himself before Alfred, sobbing and laughing, threw himself into Arthur's arms.

"Thank you, dude. Thank you so much."

* * *

A few neighborhoods away, Michelle Mancham and Mei Xiao were sitting at the Xiao's kitchen table, drinking green tea and talking. Mei's parents were off at some kind of convention, so the two girls had the house to themselves.

"Have you spoken to Elizaveta lately?" Michelle asked.

Mei looked away from the kitchen window where she'd been watching the rain. "A little. Why?"

"I really messed up, Mei."

A concerned expression crossed Mei's face, and she set her tea down. "How so? I'm sure it can be fixed."

"Easy for you to say," Michelle snorted. Mei was _perfect. _Okay, so maybe perfection didn't exist, but Mei was pretty close to it. She was always kind and nice and sweet but never fake. She baked cookies for classmates when they were sad or stressed and she could always tell when people were having a bad day. Michelle didn't know of a single person who disliked Mei, and the Taiwanese girl was popular, but only for all the right reasons. She was class president and people said she was going to be the valedictorian come senior year. And she was so damn _pretty_—

"Michelle?" Mei interrupted. "Are you going to tell me what happened with Elizaveta?"

"I just..." Michelle sighed. "I said things to her the other day. I didn't mean them. Well, I did, but I now it seems so silly. Or, no..."

Mei's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Michelle sighed again, raising her tea to her lips so she wouldn't have to speak. She'd yelled at Elizaveta, called her a bitch, and 'severed' the friendship. Michelle knew she'd definitely overreacted. But Elizaveta had just been frustrating her recently. Losing it at the dance, nearly getting killed—Michelle knew about all of it. She knew Elizaveta was keeping a lot of secrets, and though they weren't her business, Michelle was human, after all. At first, she'd tried to turn Arthur against Elizaveta. Immature, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. She'd lied and told Arthur that Elizaveta said she hated him. Michelle hoped Arthur didn't find out, because... agh! Forget Mathias, Michelle felt as if _she _were becoming bipolar.

Michelle wanted to apologize to Elizaveta. But she wasn't sure if that was a good idea.

"You should apologize," Mei said, grinning. "You're so easy to read, Chelle Bell. C'mon, why don't we give her a call now?" Mei pulled out her phone and called Elizaveta. Her smile widened when Elizaveta picked up. "Hi, Liz! There's someone I want you to talk to."

"Eh?" Michelle took Mei's phone. "Oh, hi, Elizaveta."

"Hi."

"Listen, I was hoping you could forgive me."

"About what? Calling me a bitch? Breaking off our friendship? Pretending to audition for the Spring Musicale?"

"And lying to Arthur," Michelle mumbled sheepishly.

Elizaveta sighed. "Oh, I didn't know about that. Well, I forgive you. And I heard that you are Mathias Køhler's secret-keeper. Alright, why don't you come over—without Mei—as soon as you can? I have so much to tell you, and I have a feeling that you've got a lot to say, too..."

* * *

Francis opened his laptop. He noticed an email from Dr. Alfher, and his heart sank. Was it another expulsion threat?

He read it through, reread it, and then bit his lip to keep from screaming in excitement. What a Christmas present! So it was over?

Francis grabbed his phone from his nightstand and dialed the Beilschmidt's home phone number. It rang twice before Frau Beilschmidt picked it up. _(Another thing about Dr. Aflher's email,_ Francis thought. _He called Frau Beilschmidt 'Mrs. Beilschmidt'_—_no one does that. At least, no one who's friends with Gilbert or Ludwig. _Frau Beilschmidt didn't mind the title 'Mrs.', but 'Frau' just sounded more natural for her.)

"Hello? Francis? What can I do for you, sweetie?"

"Hi, is Ludwig home?"

"Yes, certainly. Would you like to speak with him? Hold on a moment." There was some shuffling, and then Francis heard Ludwig's gruff "Hello?" from the other end.

"I got the email from Dr. Alfher."

"Are you happy?" Ludwig's voice didn't sound excited, but it wasn't mean or upset. It was neutral.

"I'm just glad it's over."

There was a pause, until Ludwig said, "My mother didn't know. She didn't know about the first meeting Dr. Alfher called until I told her. She was terrified—for all of the students who had to go. She wants it to be over, too. So she stormed into Dr. Alfher's office the other day and demanded that he would stop poking his nose around."

"I guess it worked," Francis replied. "I just wanted to say thanks."

"Thank my mother. She was right, anyway. Gilbert never would have wanted an intrusive counselor sifting through his personal business."

"I'm sorry," Francis said quickly. "Ludwig, I'm terribly, terribly sorry about everything that's happened."

"Thank you," Ludwig said. "I'm sorry, too. But I'd like to start to move on now."

"So would I." Francis ended the call and walked over to his window. It had been a drizzly Saturday morning, but now heavy storm clouds obscured the heavens, and the rain was intensifying. It was so heavy that Francis could barely see cars passing by on the street.

He felt a sense of deep calm—something he hadn't felt in a while. He knew his secret-keeper, Dr. Alfher had quit the investigations, and he had a few people he could rely on. Things would be okay. He watched as flashes of lightning tore through the sky, then closed his eyes and thought of his dear friend.

"_Au revoir_, Gilbert."


	36. Intelligence Alliance

_A/N: This is a long chapter, but there was a lot I wanted to write! I hope you don't die of boredom, ha-ha!_

* * *

**December 20th**

"Antonio, dinner is ready!"

"Coming!" Antonio called, shoving his "memory box" back under his bed and heading downstairs. Even though he thought it was kind of stupid, Antonio kept a shoebox under his bed at all times. He'd had it since fourth grade, and it was crammed with letters, drawings—anything Antonio wanted to keep safe.

Gilbert had written him a letter before ending things, and the words kept running through Antonio's head as he picked at his mother's casserole. When everyone had first shown up at the Beilschmidt's on that terrible December 1st, Antonio believed that he was just another member of the not-yet-formed Confidants' Club, too. Until he realized he didn't have any life-shattering secret that would ruin his reputation if it came out. That Friday, Antonio had been reorganizing his bookshelf (he was a bit OCD about it—he did it at least once every two weeks, arranging the books in alphabetical order) when he found a letter pressed between _Catcher in the Rye _and _Catching Fire._

It was a letter from Gilbert, saying that Antonio did not have a definite secret, and he had merely been placed in the group to oversee everyone. And, if things got really bad, to comfort the others. Gilbert had asked Antonio to remember everything, so that maybe other people could learn from this later.

Though Antonio didn't want to admit it, it had been a brilliant move by Gilbert. The 'Prussian' had been over at Antonio's house a few days before killing himself, so that would have been prime time to place the letter in the bookshelf. And only Gilbert and Francis knew how obsessed Antonio was with keeping his bookshelf straight.

After dinner, Antonio helped his mother wash the dishes, then went upstairs. Normally, Antonio would start his weekend homework, but it was Christmas Break. He didn't know what to do, and was contemplating going for a walk when his phone rang.

"Antonio, it's Francis!"

"Francis! Did you get Dr. Alfher's email?" Antonio had received it earlier that day.

"Yes. It's wonderful news, my friend! But I called for a different reason. Are you busy this evening?"

"The opposite."

"Well, you should come with me to Vladimir Lupei's."

"Um, the Romanian dude's place? Why?"

Francis chuckled. "Apparently, the Drama Club was having a little meeting at their president's house. It's somehow transformed into a full-scale Christmas party open to everyone. What do you say, Toni? Shall we go?"

"Hmm... Well, as long as you promise not to drink too much."

Francis laughed again. "I learned that lesson the hard way, _mon ami. _I don't want a repeat of Vladimir's last party, of course. Now, I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes. Dress nicely—I'm sure Bella will be there."

Antonio ignored that last comment—just because he'd _accidentally _made a comment about having a _slight _crush on Bella, Francis had been trying to set the two up for the past five months—and breathed deeply. "Mama, I'm going to hang out with Francis."

While December had not been the best month ever, Antonio felt a little better than he'd been feeling lately. He grabbed his jacket and went downstairs to wait for Francis.

* * *

"Lupei sure throws a lot of parties, huh?" Alfred asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, but think of it this way—his parents are rich and never home, he lives in this giant mansion, and he's got a constant supply of alcohol. What else is he _supposed _to do? Ah, bloody hell. Elizaveta's here. Should I say hi?"

Alfred slapped his friend on the back, laughing. "Go for it, Romeo. I'm gonna go chat with Matt. I can't believe he even showed up."

Arthur ignored Alfred's Romeo comment—he was just glad his friend was feeling better—and walked over to Elizaveta, who was laughing over something with Kiku Honda. Most of the eleventh grade had shown up, despite the fact that it was a very last-minute party. Well, most of the people who were still in town for the holidays, that is.

"Hi," Arthur said, then mentally kicked himself. _How eloquent. _

"Hello, Arthur." Kiku smiled. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Kiku. And you?"

"Good. I'll let you and Elizaveta talk, okay?" the Japanese student grabbed his drink and hurried away.

Elizaveta laughed, watching as Kiku was intercepted by Alfred, who was trying to get Kiku to do karaoke with him. "Hey, Arthur. How's it going?"

"I'm very good, I—"

"_Ohonhonhon_! Hello, Arthur. Hello, Elizaveta." Francis was approaching, dragging Antonio behind him. Arthur sighed inwardly. "Hello, Francis."

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow at Francis' glass. "You aren't going to get drunk again, are you?"

"Of course not." Francis looked slightly offended. "Antonio will take care of me."

Antonio snatched his wrist away. "No, I won't. I'm going to go talk to Lovino and Bella." Though the Spaniard may have seemed rude, it was all good-natured sarcasm, and everyone knew it. Elizaveta and Arthur laughed as Francis wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. Arthur jumped when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

He turned and was staring directly into Lukas Bondevik's distant eyes.

"Do you all mind if I borrow Arthur for a moment?"

Elizaveta smiled. "Not at all. I think I see Mei over there, anyway."

Francis nodded in agreement. "Yes. And is that Mathieu? Mathieu actually showed up?"

"Follow me," Lukas said quietly, gently elbowing people out of the way. Arthur had to struggle to hear the Norwegian over the music. "What is it?"

"I've been doing a lot more thinking," Lukas replied. He grabbed a shot glass off a table and threw it back, as if to prepare himself for whatever he was going to say. "Did you know," Lukas said, turning around, "that Gilbert and Ludwig are Dr. Alfher's nephews? 'Alfher' is the family name. Frau Beilschmidt is Dr. Alfher's sister, but _Beilschmidt_ isn't her maiden name. _Alfher _is."

"Wait," Arthur mumbled. "Is _that _why he was so determined to make things 'right' with Gilbert's death? Why he got so involved?" Things began to piece together. "And that's why he had Ludwig present at the meeting. So that Ludwig could hear everything and maybe learn something. Oh my God."

"Guess who Dr. Alfher's best friend was," Lukas continued.

Arthur frowned. "Who?"

"Mr. Canella. As in, Louise's father."

Arthur shook his head. "There's no way they can all be connected like that."

"According to what _I've _gathered, the Beilschmidts moved here when we were all in second grade, or the equivalent of second grade in our own countries. Anyway, Dr. Alfher moved to this city back in his late twenties, and he was overjoyed when he found out his sister's family was moving to the United States from Germany—to his own town, even. And then the Canellas moved here when we were in sixth grade. That was the year you came here, I think? Well, the Canellas moved into the house next to Dr. Alfher's, so both families became close. Through Dr. Alfher, the Beilschmidts met the Canellas several times. Because of that connection, Gilbert and Louise were not only classmates, but also family friends. So it's like two of Dr. Alfher's favorite kids died before graduating high school. It's a stretch, but it may have been why he was being such a pain in the ass about the entire thing. Maybe taking control was his way of grieving."

Arthur stared at Lukas, awestruck.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

"Huh? No. No, it's just..." Arthur always thought he was intelligent, but he was nothing compared to Lukas. Lukas had it all figured out, didn't he? Arthur felt a strong sense of admiration and respect towards the frosty Scandinavian. "_Wow._"

"They liked each other," Lukas proceeded.

"Oh! I _did _know that. Well, I mean... Gilbert told me..." Arthur trailed off. How could he explain things without revealing too much?

"I already know about the Confidants' Club," Lukas said, a hint of a smile flickering across his face. "Antonio and Mathias told me. Honestly, you don't give me enough credit!"

Arthur sighed. It was obvious that Lukas knew everything about everyone. If he ever needed information, _Lukas _was going to be the person he went to. "How do you know so much about other people? Don't get me wrong—I think it's very admirable. I'm just wondering."

"Hmm." Lukas tapped his chin. "I know the same things everyone else does, I just draw connections between events. Anyway, there's one more thing I want to show you."

Arthur followed Lukas past a group of sophomore girls taking selfies until they came to a large, well-lit outdoor porch. A few people sat at a table while others stood around, drinking and chatting or cheering on the people at the table.

"What's going on?" Arthur asked Lukas.

Lukas grabbed a handful of pretzels out of a bowl sitting on a side table. "Gambling."

Arthur subconsciously scanned the table for Kiku or Tino. As if reading Arthur's mind, Lukas said, "There's no one we know out here right now, don't worry. But do you remember what Tino said? The day we got caught in the library? 'There were two other people duping Louise with us.' Remember?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "I'd forgotten, but yes. Did you figure out who the other two people are?"

Lukas gazed at the gamblers. "No, but I want to. Arthur?"

"What?"

Lukas turned to the Brit. "Well, will you help me?"


	37. Reconciliation

_A/N: I'm so sorry about slow updates! I've had so much schoolwork, it's all I can do to keep going. Enjoy!_

* * *

**December 20th **

Though Alfred was popular and funny and was usually up for a good party, he was feeling pretty empty. When he first heard about the meeting-turned-party at Vlad's house, he'd been all for it, but now he regretted showing up. He was infinitely grateful to the Kirkland family for being a freaking ray of sunshine during a rainstorm, but he knew that sooner or later, people were going to find out he was living with Arthur and wonder why. He jolted out of his thoughts when someone slammed into his shoulder.

"Sorry, Alfred."

Alfred glared up at Ivan, who looked apologetic, but not overly so. "No worries," he said, a hint of malice in his voice. "So, your cousin still around?"

"She left a while ago. How did you know about that?"

"Well, I heard what a goddamn issue she caused with all that vodka. So I thought to ask if she's still around muddying up the town." This time, Alfred couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his statement. No _way _was he going to smile and act like things were a bowl of cherries with Ivan.

Ivan's violet eyes hardened. "I came to apologize, Alfred. But I must ask that you please do not insult my cousin."

"Apologize?" Alfred snorted. "There's nothing to apologize _for._ You're allowed to have your own opinions."

"How mature," Ivan commented. "But no. I heard that you're living with Arthur now. I'm sorry."

"That I'm living with Arthur?" Alfred asked, purposely playing dumb. "They have a giant house and shit. Why be sorry for luxury?"

"I'm sorry you got kicked out of your home," Ivan finally said. Alfred's eyes widened slightly, and he glanced out of one of the giant arched windows in Vladimir's living room. It was dark outside, the only light visible coming from a few streetlamps, but Alfred could tell that a light snow had begun to fall. "It's okay. I mean," he laughed, trying to keep bitterness out of his voice, "it doesn't really matter that much either way, does it? I know you don't want to be friends with me at all, but that's okay, too. I have other people in my life. I don't need you or my family. The people who love you no matter what are the only people who really matter in life." Alfred's vision began to blur.

"Alfred—" Ivan's hand tightened around his drink. He felt a pain in his chest. "I am very, very sorry."

"So am I," Alfred blurted. "About the cafeteria fight a few weeks back. When I called you a Communist and your father an alcoholic."

Ivan shrugged. "Well, it's all true. I mean, not the Communist part, obviously."

Alfred smiled. "Okay. I guess I'll see you later."

"Do you want to go to Café Italia?" Ivan asked before Alfred could walk away. Alfred paused. He and Ivan used to hang out at Café Italia all the time, always taking the table near the back. They went to get coffee or cookies or to study in a relaxing, cozy environment. And whenever Feliciano was working the counter, he never pressured them to leave—he always smiled and told them to take their time and do well on whatever test was coming up.

"We can take my mother's car," Ivan added. "I borrowed it to get here."

"Wait... are we friends again?"

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "If you want to be."

"_Why_?"

The Russian sighed. "Don't be mad, but Arthur called me and told me what happened with your family. No worries—he only told me and maybe Francis. But I realized then that the heart of you is probably more important than anything else. I apologize if that sounds stupid, but I have realized that who you love does not concern me and should not determine whether our friendship lives or dies."

Alfred smiled. "Fine. Let's go now. Maybe if Feliciano is working late shift, he can get us free brownies or something."

Ivan tossed Alfred his mother's car keys. "Right behind you, Jones. You're sober, you're driving." As they exited the house (ignoring staring classmates), Ivan cleared his throat. "So, things are okay between us? We can be friends again?"

"Duh," Alfred laughed. "To the Café Italia, my comrade!"

* * *

Arthur glanced at Michelle and Elizaveta, who were chatting in the living room and laughing. "Hey, did they make up or something?"

Lukas looked back. "I guess so. But that's good, in my opinion."

Arthur noticed that they were walking toward the front door in the entryway. "Um, Lukas, where are we going?"

"To my car. I need to show you something."

Arthur winced as the cold hit his face and squinted against the snowflakes that were now falling steadily. He followed Lukas until they reached the Norwegian's car. Lukas opened the door, shuffled around in his car for a moment, and then returned a moment later with a notebook. "Here it is." The two classmates returned to the warmth of Vladimir's giant house, which was even larger than Arthur's, and poked around until they found a relatively empty, quieter room. "This notebook," Lukas said, holding the thing up, "is most likely worth more than anything I own. People would probably kill others to get it. Or kill themselves to keep it safe."

"What is it, though?" Arthur asked, apprehension growing.

Lukas looked around the room quickly, verifying that no one was listening. "I call it the Scrapbook of Secrets—SOS for short. I started keeping it in ninth grade after... a certain incident. It's how I keep everything straight. Any information I find out about other people—useless or not—I write down here so I can put it all together later. It's been very helpful. I managed to find out the basics of the Confidants' Club before Antonio and Mathias told me. I pieced together the whole Alfher-Canella thing with it. And now, I'm working figuring out who the other two gamblers are." He flipped it open and handed it to Arthur.

The page Lukas had opened to was covered with random pieces of information written in different colors of ink, lines drawn between a few of the notes. "This is genius," Arthur marveled, his eyes flickering over a few of the things written down. "How do you know all this...?"

"People trust me," Lukas said. "People tell me things. True, I'd never give away a confidence. But I have it all written down in case I need to reference something."

Arthur moved to turn the page and Lukas grabbed the SOS. "Most certainly not! Were you not listening to me? People's deepest, darkest things are in here. You can only see the things that involve you."

"Okay, then," Arthur laughed. "Tell me what you know about the other gamblers so far."

"I was talking to Tino, and he accidentally let it slip that one of them is a guy and one of them is a girl. I'm mentally calling them Jack and Jill."

Arthur smiled. "Well, it'd have to be someone who's been here since at least ninth grade."

"So I went to talk to Kiku," Lukas continued, "and I got him to subconsciously admit that both of the other people are in our grade. I'd originally thought that Jill was Elizaveta, because—I'm sure you know this—of how she used to sell alcohol, but now I see that it isn't. The only parties Elizaveta ever really attended were _after _Louise passed away. Besides..." Lukas frowned. "She seems much too nice for something like that, now that I've gotten to know her."

"Ah, but there's the catch," Arthur said. "I believe you when you say that Elizaveta is innocent, of course. I really do like her. But looks can be very deceiving."

Lukas smiled. _Lukas smiled._ Are you even allowed to put those words next to each other? "Right, Arthur. I think you'll make an extremely helpful ally here..."

**December 20th, ****_hours earlier _**

Michelle took a deep breath and knocked on the Hédervárys' front door. Elizaveta appeared quickly, inviting Michelle inside. "Hi. My parents aren't here right now, so thanks for stopping by."

"I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry," Michelle said. "For saying those things. I want you to be my friend. I understand that everyone has secrets."

"No, no, no," Elizaveta insisted, shaking her head. "I'll forgive you if you forgive me for not telling the truth in the first place."

"Deal." Michelle grinned, turning back toward the door. "Please offer Arthur my apologies as well. That's all. I'm going to go."

Elizaveta smiled. "Well, you approve?"

"Of what?"

"Of Arthur, silly."

Michelle grinned. "Yes. Wait, how would you say it? Totally, Elizaveta. I ship it."

Elizaveta smiled in delight. "Michelle... thank you."

"Thank _you. _Ah, now I'm getting emotional. This is ridiculous..."

"Want to stay? We could watch a movie. Hang out."

"Sure thing," Michelle replied, flourishing her hand. "After you, Milady."

"Ah, we're going to have so much fun!"

"Whatever. As long as you don't bring out the karaoke machine," Michelle warned.

"Rude. My singing is perfection itself."

The two friends headed into the living room, friendship restored. Elizaveta knew that as soon as one problem was fixed, another one would appear, but she was hoping that this time, everything would stay fine. She and Michelle had reconciled, and things were going well with Arthur.

Maybe she'd even find her secret-keeper.


	38. Cryptic Calls

_DISCLAIMER: The author of this story is too embarrassed to show her face right now. She apologizes sincerely for her slow-ass updates. She is a very bad author._

_(A/N: Two things. First, I'm thinking of adding chapter names to make this story easier to navigate. Would that bother anyone? Secondly, I saw someone on Instagram was reading this and hashtagging screenshots of the story to #TheConfidantsClub. I don't know if you're still reading this, but shoutout to you if you are.)_

* * *

**December 21st **

Anyone who's ever read a book about war or a textbook knows that the winners get to write history. But this time, Kiku Honda and Tino Väinämöinen did _not _expect that to be the case. Sure, they'd managed to beat Louise Canella time after time. Enough times, in fact, that she'd managed to accumulate three thousand US dollars in debt—preferably cash—to them. When she'd died (and yes, both Kiku and Tino were dead-set from the beginning that it was a suicide, not some silly accident), they'd been scared.

They'd won, but sooner or later, people were going to find out what they'd done. How they'd cheated over and over. Not even for money. Just to win something.

They weren't bad people. They were human. But still, the only saving grace they had was to keep the identities of the other two gamblers who'd helped them beat Louise secret.

The Japanese student and the Finnish student met that Sunday morning at the Café Italia to talk strategy.

"I accidentally told Lukas that one of the gamblers was a boy and one was a girl," Tino admitted to Kiku after finishing half of his coffee. "He's taken to calling them Jack and Jill and he's very set on finding out who they are. And he definitely asked Arthur Kirkland to help him figure things out! Isn't this bad?"

"Jack and Jill?" Kiku replied. "Isn't that a nursery rhyme?"

"Jack and Jill went up the hill... or something like that," Tino said. "He breaks his head open or something."

Kiku sighed, his shoulders drooping. "I know we cannot tell anyone who the other two gamblers are. I mean, you know about one of them... but I feel very bad not saying anything at all. My conscience is struggling."

Tino's nodded. "Yeah. But even if we left Lukas the tiniest thread, he'd probably figure out things anyway."

Kiku's eyes lit up. "I've got it! Can you drive by Arthur Kirkland's house on the way home? I have a wonderful idea."

* * *

To: Mathias Køhler

Subject: Untitled

Hey, Mathias. As I'm sure you know, Christmas is approaching. I hope you're having a fun time in Denmark. I want you to enjoy your trip, of course. I want you to have a lot of fun this Christmas. But at the same time, I've just been informed by Arthur that Elizaveta has not found her secret-keeper. If you have any information, please let me know. Now, go have a good time. At least one of us is spending his break back in Scandinavia!

-Lukas Bondevik

—

To: Lukas Bondevik

Subject: Re: Untitled

Yes, I'm having so much fun here, Lukas. It's great. GREAT! Ah, what? Right, Elizaveta. Now I'm not close with her at all, but I'll try my best to scrape up any information. Oh, crap! Christmas is in four days. She'd better get on that! But info, right, right... uh... well, maybe you should try talking to Ivan's cousin. I don't remember her name... wait, maybe she isn't in town anymore? No clue. Anyway, I doubt she'd be of much use. Err, let's see...

-Mathias Køhler

Elizaveta sighed, reading over the email exchange Lukas had just sent her. She wasn't blaming Mathias at all, but it was clear he wasn't going to be of much help here. At least Lukas was making an active effort to help her find her secret-keeper. Elizaveta racked her brain. Who in the world could—? Just then, her laptop let out a message alert. Lukas had forwarded her another email, which was copied and pasted from something Mathias had sent him. This one was also from Mathias. It was pretty short.

I just remembered something! You MUST'VE been to some of Vladimir Lupei's parties, I KNOW you have. You know he's always got enough alcohol to feed all the drunken armies of the world. Anyway, Elizaveta was some kind of alcohol distributor. Maybe you should talk to Vladimir. Best of luck.

Elizaveta mentally slapped herself. _How _had she not thought of this before?! She'd given Vladimir a few bottles of something one time. Maybe he knew something. She grabbed a school directory and called his home phone number, her heart racing.

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Err... Vladimir? It's Elizaveta."

There was a silence on the other end.

"Um, I was just wondering if you... um..." Crap. Elizaveta frowned. She hadn't thought up a mental script at all. "I mean, remember when I sold you some drinks for your party that one time?"

"Yes."

"Did you, ah, that is to say..."

Vladimir sighed. "We aren't all evil, Elizaveta."

"What?"

"I hate you."

"Yes, yes, I hate you too," Elizaveta said, wondering where the conversation was going.

"Yeah, but I'd never ruin your life."

"I never ruined _yours_," Elizaveta replied. "Are you trying to accuse me of something?"

"What? No. I just wanted to let you know that. If, let's say, you had some kind of secret that I knew about... well, I wouldn't exactly be rushing around to tell anyone, even if some dead German guy were holding a gun to my head. Even if I _owed _said German guy. On second thought, _he_ kind of owed _me..."_

"What? Vladimir, really, are you trying to tell me that you're my secret—"

The line went dead.

* * *

"Arthur, could you go get the mail?"

"Sure, Mum," Arthur called, grabbing his coat and walking outside. It was snowing. Not really enough to stick to the ground, but the heavy winds sure made going outside very unpleasant. Arthur opened the mailbox and frowned.

The usual stack of junk and letters was there, no problem, but nestled on top of those was a small bouquet of blue cornflowers.

* * *

Lukas ran over his notes again.

When he'd first found out that Gilbert had ended his own life, Lukas had been surprised. Surprised because he thought Gilbert was just fine, even if he did have some dark corners in his life. But the more Lukas found out through the Confidants' Club, classmates, and other events, the more it made sense. Because no matter how you looked at it, the truth wasn't pretty. Gilbert had been a gay, bullied kid who made some serious mistakes and got rejected by the person he liked. Not to mention that the only _girl _he'd ever liked had been run over a bus.

And according to many sources, Gilbert had also been a frequent gambler, though he'd never owed anyone more than about fifty dollars.

Lukas' phone, which was sitting on his bed, rang. Lukas answered.

"It's Arthur. I just got some flowers in the mail."

"Um, good for you," Lukas replied dryly.

"I don't know who they're from."

"Oh, I see. You think I'm capable of solving all the mysteries of the universe now."

Arthur paused. He probably wasn't used to being around someone who was even more sarcastic than he was. "They're, uh, blue cornflowers."

Lukas considered that. "And you said you don't know who they're from? Well, blue cornflowers are Germany's national flower. I'm sure you knew that, though. That's why you called, isn't it? You think there's some deep meaning to this?"

"Yes?" Arthur ventured.

"Yeah, I agree. But let's worry about this later. In the meantime, I need to take a nap. And catch up on some Netflix."

Arthur laughed. "The icy, all-knowing Lukas Bondevik actually shows some human tendencies? Who would've known?"

Lukas snorted. "Well, while you're not busy, if I were you, I'd call my little Hungarian girlfriend and ask her what the deal is with Vladimir Lupei. Bye now."


	39. Danes and Depression

_A/N: Ah, thank you for all of your kind comments and theories. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!_

* * *

**December 21st**

Antonio walked down the stairs, two wrapped presents in his arms—one for his mother, one for his father—which he placed under the Christmas tree in the living room before heading into the kitchen to make himself a snack. His parents were away that Saturday evening for one of his father's business parties. As Antonio tried to shape together some kind of meal out of plantains and bread, he thought about Christmas. There'd be Christmas Mass, of course, then they'd probably go over to a family friend's house for some kind of Christmas meal, and then...

The Spaniard frowned. December 25th. The deadline for finding your secret-keeper. Even though Antonio didn't have to worry about that, he wondered how everyone else was doing. He knew Mathias had found Michelle recently, which was good. Antonio's phone beeped.

_6:45 PM - Lovino Vargas: Hey, bastard. Am I still coming over to hang out tonight?_

_6:46 PM - Antonio F. Carriedo: Yeah, if you want to, of course._

Antonio sighed. He remembered shortly after the Winter Soirée, Francis had complained to him about how rude Lovino had been. Still, Antonio liked Lovino, and considered the Italian to be similar to Arthur—easily angered, quick to insult, but very loyal to his friends.

_And _he was a secret-keeper.

Antonio finished eating and went into the living room to wait for his friend.

They needed to have a serious talk.

* * *

To: Mathias Køhler

Subject: Letter (1 Attachment)

Hi! I heard you were in Denmark. I hope you're having lots of fun! Anyway, I just realized I forgot to give you a letter Gilbert told me to deliver to you when you found out I was your 'secret-keeper.' Sorry! I've attached a picture of it here. And don't worry, I didn't read it at all. If you want the actual hard copy when you get back to America, just let me know. Have a nice Christmas!

-Michelle Mancham

Mathias scrolled through the email on his phone, scanned it quickly, then opened the link. A picture of Gilbert's letter appeared. Mathias read it.

_Hey, Mathias. I guess you managed to find Michelle? You may or may not know this, but for the other people, I gave no explanation as to why I picked their secret-keeper to be, well, THEIR secret-keeper. But I'll let you know why I chose Michelle for you. I'm not sure if it's going on anymore, but I had my first decent-length conversation with Michelle last year, in tenth grade. She almost fell down the stairs_—_you know, the really hazardous ones by Herr Bauer's room that EVERYONE trips down_—_and so I just helped her pick up her stuff. She dropped a pill bottle, and I picked it up... Well, isn't this sounding quite familiar? Yup, well, later I found out Michelle was struggling with depression. Interesting, right?_

Mathias frowned. He felt bad for Michelle, but when was Gilbert going to write something _comforting_?

_Like I said, I have no idea if she's still depressed. I think she got some help, and it was never extremely serious. But I know you know what it's like to struggle with stuff like that. Things that are just 'in our heads.' Hell, I do, too. Anyway, I just thought you should know that. I think you can kind of relate to Michelle like I can, you feel? Now, now, I know you need closure. So yes, you were a great friend. In fact, you never really did anything totally vengeful or bad to me_—_nothing at all, actually. But I know if you're with those other people (and I DO hope you all are working in a group), you'll be able to fill in all the gaps of the story for the other people. Please, do that._

_P.S. I know I gave you shit about them, but your glasses look nice. Honestly.  
_

The Dane nodded while reading. Yup, it was all true. Why hadn't he told anyone? The summer between tenth and eleventh grade. The summer before Gilbert ended it all.

And, most importantly, the summer of Mathias' grand Eurotrip with Gilbert. The Køhlers had moved to the US when Mathias was going into eighth grade. The Scandinavian became friends almost instantly with Gilbert, and they always had lighthearted rants about how much they hated America and how much they wanted to go back to Europe. So they asked their families if they could go back to Denmark and Germany together over the summer when they were older.

Surprisingly, after tons of begging and asking, their parents had all agreed—under a few conditions. First, Mathias and Gilbert both had to get jobs to cover some of the expenses. Mathias would have to learn basic German, and Gilbert would have to learn basic Danish. They'd have to make good grades. And if things went well, they would be permitted to have a weeklong Denmark/Germany trip during the summer before junior year.

To most, it probably sounded absurd—sending two teenagers to another continent for a week, one of whom was bipolar—but the Beilschmidts and the Køhlers both knew that those were the countries their boys had been born and raised in; the countries their children visited at least annually. And their kids worked hard to make it happen.

So it did.

It had been, as Gilbert would say, awesome. Mathias showed Gilbert all the great spots in Copenhagen, pointed out his old home, and they even spent one afternoon with Mathias' cousins, who still lived in Denmark. In Germany, Gilbert guided Mathias throughout Berlin and Hamburg and did a bunch of touristy stuff.

But one evening, about halfway through the Danish leg of the trip, Mathias had been in their hotel room's bathroom, brushing his teeth and taking out his contacts (and trying to ignore Gilbert's sarcastic comments about the Dane's glasses) when he suddenly remembered he needed to take his pills. He spotted the orange container on the counter by the soap and reached for it.

He dropped it, and pills flew everywhere. Mathias managed to pick most of them up, and he was realizing that they didn't look like _his _pills when Gilbert came into the bathroom to see what had spilled.

"What the _fuck _are you doing?!" Gilbert snapped, swooping down and gathering up the remaining pills. "Hasn't anyone taught you not to snoop through other people's things? Why were you even trying to get to my medicine anyway?"

"Sorry!" Mathias exclaimed, pushing his glasses back up his face and handing Gilbert the pills he'd gathered. "I—I thought they were mine!"

Gilbert's expression softened. "Headaches? Stomachaches? Allergies?"

"No, they're..." Mathias hesitated. "Um..."

Gilbert dropped the rest of the pills back into the container and took one, then brushed his teeth. "What? You can tell me."

Mathias took a deep breath. "Um, bipolar. They're pills for bipolar disorder. Mine are, I mean."

"Huh." Gilbert rinsed and raised an eyebrow. "You're bipolar?"

Mathias felt his face turn red. "I—"

Gilbert shrugged. "No big deal. My pills... well, they're depression pills."

Mathias stared at his friend for a moment. "Oh... so we're good?"

"Totally." Gilbert walked back into the bedroom and settled down on his bed. He'd asked for the bed near the window, and Mathias didn't mind, because he didn't like it when the sun rose into his eyes in the morning. "Goodnight, Mathias."

* * *

"Mathias!" Mathias' aunt called up the stairs. "Your cousins are about to start a movie!"

"Thank you!" Mathias yelled back. "I'm coming!" He went downstairs and saw his parents and aunt and uncle sitting at the kitchen table, talking and drinking. In the living room, his two cousins—ages five and nine—had some Danish movie playing. Mathias remembered it from his own childhood. He sat down and took out his phone, half listening to the movie, half wondering who he should text to discuss Gilbert's letter with.

Not Lukas, who'd become like the unofficial consultant of the Confidants' Club. The Norwegian had enough to deal with. He didn't want to bother Alfred or Arthur. Sighing, he pulled out Antonio's number and began writing the Spaniard a message.

_I know I should've said something, _Mathias typed, _but I didn't know how or when or what to say. Gilbert was depressed. It crossed my mind many times after he killed himself, no doubt. But I didn't know what to do. His parents knew because he had medication. So this is probably just another factor. Sorry :(_

Mathias sent it, feeling a bit better about himself. He wasn't quite sure what time it was back in America, but he knew Antonio would see it at some point. Søren, his five-year-old cousin, peered over at Mathias' phone. "Why're you writing texts in English? That is English, right?" he asked in Danish.

"Yeah. It's because I'm writing to a friend back in America," Mathias explained, locking his phone.

"You aren't talking to _me_ in English."

"You don't _speak _English, silly," Mathias replied, focusing on the movie. "Not that much, anyway." He stood up.

Søren frowned. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just getting my glasses," said Mathias. He thought of the last line of Gilbert's letter and smiled.

"I'd like to be fluent in two languages when I grow up. What do you think I should learn?"

Mathias patted his cousin's head. Søren reminded him immensely of Gilbert—light hair, light skin, adventurous and strong personality. He sighed.

"Whatever you want, kid. Don't rush it. You've got a long, wonderful life ahead of you."


	40. Jack and Jill

_A/N: 400 reviews. FOUR HUNDRED. Wow. Just wow. You guys are fantastic. Enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

**December 21st **

When Lukas woke up from his nap, he had a glimmer of an idea. He got Feliciano's number from Antonio. While the two were chatting, Antonio mentioned a startling text he'd received from Mathias, stating Gilbert had battled with depression. Lukas added that to the SOS, then called Feliciano. The Italian picked up immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Feliciano," Lukas said. "This is Lukas."

"Right!" Feliciano replied. "Of course, of course. Do you need to swap shifts?"

Lukas remembered that Feliciano worked at the Café Italia. Of _course _he did—the Vargases owned the coffeehouse. Lukas realized just how little he interacted with the Vargases outside of work. Good. Then this question wouldn't seem strange or threatening. "No, actually I'm taking a break over Christmas vacation, but thanks for offering. I was wondering if you were working the morning shift today."

"At the café? Yeah."

Lukas nodded, marking something on a blank page in the SOS. _Dec. 21st: __Feliciano worked morning shift. 7 AM to 3 PM. _"Did Tino and Kiku happen to stop by?"

"Um, Tino Väinämöinen? And Kiku Honda?"

"Right." Lukas tapped his pen against the paper anxiously.

"Ehh... yes, that's right. They did stop by. They talked and got some coffee."

"What time?"

Feliciano sounded pensive. "Oh, I'd say... around eleven or twelve. Why?"

The Norwegian hedged. "No reason. Thanks, Feliciano." Lukas hung up and checked his call history. Arthur had called him about the mysterious cornflowers around noon.

Lukas lost himself in a deep sigh, closing the SOS and glancing out the window.

This was _not _good.

* * *

"Alfred, Elizaveta's here! I'll be downstairs if you need me!" Arthur called. He heard his friend groan; apparently Alfred had managed to acquire a cold from the previous night's party. Arthur heard that Alfred and Ivan had apologized to each other, which was lovely, but Arthur suspected the two had been standing out in the snow for too long. Alfred had insisted it was probably just one of those twenty-four hour things, but Alice Kirkland had insisted Alfred take some medicine and get some rest. She wouldn't have anyone getting sick this close to Christmas.

Arthur walked downstairs and opened the front door.

"Hi," Elizaveta said tiredly. "Thanks for inviting me over. You're not going to believe what Vladimir said to me, that useless shitface."

Arthur grinned. "Well, we can sit in the kitchen here. Do you want anything to drink? I made some coffee for Alfred, want some?"

"Oh, yes please," Elizaveta said, then paused. "Wait. Alfred? Is he here now?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs," Arthur replied. "He, um..." the Brit lowered his voice. "His parents kicked him out. Because, well, _you know._"

Elizaveta's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh my God! That's terrible!" She accepted the mug Arthur passed to her. "And here I was, thinking the Joneses were lovely people. Is he sleeping?"

"He's sick," Arthur said. "But what were you saying about Vladimir? Lukas told me something may have happened, so that's why I called you over."

"I called him," said Elizaveta. "He was being really vague. He basically said, 'Oh, I hate you, but I'm not going to ruin your life.'" The Hungarian drank some coffee. "And then he said something about how a dead German guy—I'm assuming he meant Gilbert—owed him."

"Owed him?" Arthur asked. "What does that mean?"

"No clue." Elizaveta sighed. "If he's my secret-keeper, I suppose I should just call again and ask him, right?"

"I would," said Arthur. "Even if he's not, it sounds like he knows a lot." Arthur stood up, walked over to the kitchen counter, and returned holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Um, what are these?" Elizaveta questioned.

Arthur set the bouquet down on the kitchen table and sat back down. "Apparently they're blue cornflowers. Someone dropped them off in my mailbox earlier today. By hand."

"What is it with you and receiving random flowers?" Elizaveta joked.

Arthur snorted, remembering the whole fiasco with Bella and the rose. "Lucky me, right? Anyway, I have no idea who would've dropped them off."

"Well, I was at the flower shop today," Elizaveta replied.

"Why?"

"My mom is going to some dinner party with her friends tonight, and she wanted to bring flowers. I offered to pick them up for her. Tino and Kiku were there."

"At the flower shop? Doing _what_?"

"Um, buying flowers?" Elizaveta said. "I said hi to them, but I just stopped by after church, picked my flowers up, and went on my way. We didn't chat or anything."

Arthur pulled out his phone. "Do you mind if I call Lukas?"

"Now? Sure. Put it on speaker."

Arthur set his phone on the table, waiting for Lukas to pick up. Elizaveta sipped at her coffee, her gaze fixated on the flowers. Lukas answered pretty quickly. "Hello? Arthur, I know you're probably calling for an important reason, but let me tell you this first—did you know that Gilbert was depressed?"

"Really?" Elizaveta exclaimed, setting her coffee mug down. "Him, too?"

"Who's that? Elizaveta?" Lukas asked. "He was. And what do you mean, 'too'?"

Elizaveta rested her chin on her palm. "Well, Michelle was. In tenth grade."

"You knew?" Lukas sounded surprised.

"Lukas, I'm her best friend," Elizaveta said. "Of course I knew. She got some medication, went to therapy over the summer, ranted some to Mei and me, and she's been fine ever since. We don't like to talk about it much. But she's doing great."

"Lukas," Arthur said. "Elizaveta saw Kiku and Tino at the flower shop after she went to church."

Elizaveta and Arthur heard pages turning, then Lukas' thoughtful voice asking, "What time does your church service end?"

"Eleven," the Hungarian responded.

"Oh my God," Lukas said.

"What? What?" Arthur demanded.

The Norwegian sighed. "I called Feliciano earlier today. He worked the morning shift at the Café Italia today, which was seven AM to three PM. During that time, he said Tino and Kiku stopped by around eleven or twelve. Arthur called me, telling me he'd received the cornflowers, at noon. Elizaveta saw them at the flower shop, but it had to have been after eleven. So it fits perfectly. Kiku and Tino delivered the flowers."

Elizaveta looked immensely confused. "All right, that is very logical, but _why_—"

"Bloody hell," Arthur interrupted. "Blue cornflowers, representing Germany or Prussia. From Tino and Kiku. Do you get what they're saying, Lukas?!"

Lukas' breath caught, and his aloof voice dropped to a whisper. "Before we jump to conclusions, Arthur, I need you to do something."

"What?"

"This may be a coincidence, and I'm praying that that's all this is—some mistake where we read into things too much. But there's one way we'll know for sure if those flowers are from Kiku and Tino. Are the flowers in a bouquet? Are they wrapped in plastic?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Unwrap them and dump the flowers everywhere. They're probably tied at the bottom, so you'll have to cut the string on the stems."

"Elizaveta, can you get me some scissors?" Arthur asked. "They're over there in that knife block on the counter."

The brunette looked absolutely lost, but she did as Arthur told her. He thanked her, removed the plastic from the cornflowers, and cut the string holding the bouquet together. He had no clue why Lukas was telling him to do this, but he did it anyway. "Okay, what now?"

"Dump the flowers all over the table—you're sitting near a table, right?"

Arthur moved his phone out of the way, took a deep breath, and ruined the bouquet. Loose cornflowers went all over the kitchen table, and Arthur frowned. "What the hell was the point of ruining a perfectly good bouquet like that—" he broke off in horror.

Lukas noticed the silence coming from Arthur and Elizaveta's end. "Do you see it?" he asked, hopefully and worriedly at the same time.

"Yes," Arthur whispered. There, in the middle of the cornflowers, was the torn card. The card Kiku and Tino and two other people had used to cheat Louise.

"That's the card," Elizaveta exclaimed. "Isn't that the card that was in the cheating deck?"

"Arthur," Lukas said. "Tino and Kiku are sending us a very obvious message. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes," Arthur replied quietly. "Holy fuck. _Gilbert was Jack_..."


	41. Nighttime Interlude

_A/N: Lukas was selected for the "Best Supporting Male Character" in the 2015 Hetalia Awards, and various other characters in here were nominated for other awards. Thank you guys. Seriously. It's because of YOU that I've had the will to keep writing and updating... to the point that this fic has become forty-one chapters (?!). I can't thank you all enough for the kind comments, support, and friendship you've continued to provide me with for almost a year now. I am very grateful. Truly._

* * *

**December 21st**

"If you had to ruin someone's life, would you?"

"What? Come again, bastard?" Lovino Vargas stared over at Antonio.

"You heard me," Antonio replied. "Would you? Do you think you have it in you?"

"W-what?" Lovino paused the movie they'd been watching. "What the hell are you talking about? If you're going to ask me something, just _ask_."

"You're homophobic," Antonio said. "So you hate Francis. He already talked to you, so you can't say anything to anyone. But if he _hadn't _come to you, would you go ahead and tell everyone on Christmas? Would you ruin his life?"

Lovino's jaw dropped. "Well, that's—I mean... How did you know that?"

"That isn't important."

Lovino glared at Antonio. "What the fuck? I don't know. Why are you asking that?"

"Just tell me if you would."

"Antonio? You're creeping me out."

"Please answer."

"Okay, okay!" Lovino stared down at the carpet of Antonio's living room. "Um, I guess I would. But it really has nothing to do with a guy being with another guy or anything like that, I don't think. That's just because that's what Gilbert told me to do, and it's kind of like his last wish. That probably doesn't justify it, but I'd do it. I would tell everyone what Francis did if he hadn't come to me by Christmas. _Che palle! _Are you happy now?"

"What should I do?"

Lovino looked at Antonio again. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind. Just play the movie."

* * *

Vladimir sat in his room, trying not to think of Gilbert and Elizaveta and thinking of nothing else.

His parents were away on some business trip, leaving him with the giant house to himself, just as usual. They promised they'd be back by Christmas Eve, so Vladimir didn't mind, but Elizaveta's call was the thing that was actually unsettling him.

Yeah, he was her secret-keeper, or whatever they called it. It made sense. And Vladimir hated Elizaveta—he really did—but he wasn't cruel enough to _want _to go yelling her secret out to everyone. Especially because he knew he wasn't much better, not when it came to things like alcohol. He was the one throwing all the parties. Elizaveta just worked behind the scenes. Or she used to. Vladimir didn't really think she did that stuff anymore.

Vladimir hoped she was smart enough to know he was her secret-keeper. He'd made it quite obvious.

Hadn't he?

The Romanian also felt a strange combination of hatred and admiration toward Gilbert, because the guy had been smart enough to set up such an elaborate after-death activity, but why did _Vladimir _have to be involved?

Especially after he'd had covered for that useless German asshole after the summer party incident...

Unless that was why Gilbert had even picked him in the first place?

Vladimir sighed.

He stared out the window and waited for Elizaveta to call.

* * *

"Is it supposed to snow tonight?" Matthew asked.

"I don't know. I think so." Francis looked up at the starry night sky. "It looks pretty clear, though."

The two friends were taking a walk around the neighborhood together, mainly just to clear their minds and talk for a while.

"Did you hear about Alfred moving in with the Kirklands?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah. It's really, really sad." Francis put his hands in his pockets, trying to warm them up. "I feel bad for him." Francis glanced at Matthew. "Speaking of which, did you ever find your secret-keeper?"

Matthew sighed, watching his breath form a white cloud in the cold air. "I didn't. I don't care anymore."

"You're giving up?"

"Yeah. It doesn't really matter to me. I suppose I'll get mocked for a bit, then go back to my life."

"Matthew—"

"It's all right," the Canadian replied, staring straight ahead. "I deserve this."

"_Non_! Are you kidding me?" Francis demanded, stopping. "You don't. We don't. Haven't you realized Gilbert was just as bad as any of us? What you did was... it was not..."

"Francis," Matthew said, growing slightly irritated. "It really doesn't matter. I don't care what happens—" Matthew was interrupted by his phone ringing. He pulled it out his pocket, avoiding Francis' eyes, and answered. "Hello? Antonio?"

Francis raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

Matthew frowned. "No, I'm on a walk. What? I mean, I guess I can—Francis is with me. Okay. Yes, I'll do that. Bye."

"What did Antonio want?" Francis asked.

"He wanted me to stop by his house."

"Really? Why?"

"How should I know?" Matthew asked. "Well, his neighborhood is right this way, isn't it? Will you walk with me?"

Francis nodded and they began walking in the direction of Antonio's house. Matthew was familiar with the location of the Spaniard's house due to previous Confidants' Club meetings they'd had there, and Francis knew the path there like the back of his hand.

The moon was high in the sky when Francis and Matthew arrived at Antonio's house.

The Canadian knocked on the door and Antonio answered almost immediately, his green eyes worried and tired-looking. "Come inside, please."

Lovino was sitting on the couch and snorted when he saw Francis walk in.

"Thanks for interrupting your walk to come talk to me," Antonio said. He seemed... nervous, almost. Matthew smiled shakily. "It wasn't a problem. Is something the matter?"

"Can I talk to you? Privately?"

"What about them?" Matthew asked quietly, making a small motion toward Francis and Lovino. The two Europeans were both sitting on the sofa by the television, but Lovino was sitting as far away from Francis as he could, a scowl plastered on his face.

"This will just take a minute," Antonio said, leading Matthew into a quieter room that appeared to be an office. A computer and a pile of paperwork sat on a desk in the corner, and two maps hung on the walls. Antonio closed the door, and Matthew felt his nervousness rise.

He knew it was completely irrational, but he kept expecting Antonio to do something like pull out a knife and stab him to death. It was just such an odd situation. Matthew strained to see if he could hear whether Francis and Lovino were arguing in the living room, but he could only hear the low mumble of the television.

Matthew turned his attention back to Antonio when he noticed Antonio shifting through something sitting on the desk—a shoebox. It appeared to be crammed with letters, cards, and scraps.

"Um, Antonio?"

Antonio grabbed something out of the box, straightened up, and took a deep breath.

"Matthew, I think I—I mean, ah, I found your secret-keeper..."


	42. Right Versus Wrong

_A/N: Does anyone know if Moldova has a human name that is used by the fandom? If not, can you guys suggest some?_

* * *

**December 21st **

Elizaveta stared at the Kirklands' Christmas tree, unfallen tears turning the lights into bright white blurs. What she didn't understand was the unfairness of the situation. Of course, she knew that life wasn't fair and the good die young and the best don't get what they deserve and all those other bullshit sayings society likes to throw at people, but she couldn't wrap her head around the events that had just happened.

It was perfectly understandable that Gilbert would have been distraught over Louise's death. Elizaveta had been, too. And though it hadn't been the right thing to do, Elizaveta could slightly fathom as to why Gilbert had brought the Louise incident back to haunt Arthur.

But it was detestable—absolutely _unforgivable, _no matter what—for Gilbert to throw Arthur's mistake back into the Brit's face when _Gilbert _had been one of the very reasons Louise had killed herself. At least, that's what Elizaveta thought. Based on the realizations of the night, she was absolutely positive Louise's bus incident had been a suicide.

If Gilbert had been Jack, it meant it was partly his fault that the poor girl was dead.

Arthur and Elizaveta were still sitting at the kitchen table, the cornflowers scattered over the tabletop, when Mrs. Kirkland came home with Kaelin and Peter. The three of them had been doing some rehearsal thing for the kids' Christmas pageant at the Kirklands' church. Allistor was out drinking with friends. And Alfred had been completely dead to the world for hours, knocked out with cold medicine and resting comfortably in his room.

"Oh, hi, Elizaveta," Alice Kirkland said, smiling warmly. She was familiar with the Héderváry family through the PTA at Arthur's school, and she'd always thought that Elizaveta was kind, respectful, and polite. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Elizaveta said, jumping as if she'd been spacing out for a while.

"We're fine," Arthur replied unconvincingly, his eyes fixed on the wall.

"Is this your girlfriend?" Peter said loudly.

Arthur scowled. "No."

"Well, dear, you're welcome to join us for dinner," Alice said to Elizaveta. "Arthur, is Alfred awake?"

"I don't think so," Arthur said. "I'll go check. One second." He stood up, walking upstairs slowly. His legs felt numb. He still couldn't believe it. Of _all _people—God, Gilbert was such a damn hypocrite. He had the nerve to accuse eight people of ruining his life when he himself had been responsible for putting his so-called "crush" in debt so bad she had felt the need to kill herself?

Arthur stopped outside of Alfred's door and knocked. "Alfred, are you asleep?"

"No," Alfred said. He opened the door. "I'm feeling kind of tired, though. What, is dinner ready?"

"Not yet," Arthur said. "My mum just wanted me to check how you're feeling."

"Much better," Alfred replied. "Are _you_ okay? You look kind of feverish."

"I—" Arthur had no idea how to answer the question. He and Alfred were too close to be fooled by those "I'm fine; it's nothing" statements from each other, but Arthur didn't want to make Alfred upset. Still, Alfred had the right to know. "Okay, um, you know how Louise Canella was in debt?"

Alfred nodded, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, Kiku and Tino said two other people helped them gamble against her, right? One of the people—um—"

Alfred tipped his head to one side.

"Gilbert," Arthur choked out. "One of the people was Gilbert."

* * *

"What do you mean?!" Matthew exclaimed, grabbing Antonio's shoulders. "Antonio, please! Talk! What's going on?"

_"Lo siento..." _

"Antonio?" Matthew's hands dropped to his side and he took a step back, jumping when he hit the closed door. "Antonio, please tell me what—"

"Me," Antonio said. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, making them shine. "I'm sorry, Matthew. I... I can't even do this one thing properly, not even the last thing Gilbert asked me to do... I was going to, but I met you, and you're such a nice, caring person..." He trailed off, gasping. "Gilbert, I'm sorry..."

"What are you talking—" Matthew started, but he was interrupted by the office door swinging open.

"Bastard! Pull yourself together!" Lovino Vargas roared, flying into the room and shaking the Spaniard, who was beginning to sob uncontrollably. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, I swear to _God_—!"

Francis entered and stood beside Matthew, watching. "What happened?" he murmured.

"I'm not even sure," Matthew replied softly. "Were you two listening?"

"Yes," Francis said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Hey," Matthew said, cautiously stepping toward his friend, "Antonio, what happened? What's the matter?" He decided to use a quiet, gentle tone of voice rather than shouting curse words and threats, as Lovino's method didn't seem to be working.

Antonio took a ragged breath, wiping some of his tears away. "I'm your secret-keeper, Matthew. B-but I can't do it. I knew you weren't going to come to me because you didn't know, but I can't share your secret. I know Gilbert w-wanted me to—I _can't._ You're too nice. You are the most decent person out of all of us, and it's all so wrong..."

No one in the room could explain it, but everyone noticed. In an instant, it was like Matthew's eyes went cold and his entire mood changed. He looked angrier than Antonio, Francis, or Lovino had ever seen him, though it was such a subtle change that it was difficult to pinpoint what exactly had been said that had made him upset.

"I am not nice," Matthew said. "I am not a good person." He grabbed Francis' arm and began walking out of the open office door. "We're leaving."

* * *

Dinner was awkward. Elizaveta, Arthur, and Alfred were sitting on one side of the table, all wanting to talk but knowing it wasn't an appropriate time. Kaelin and Peter rattled on about the Christmas pageant, and it was nice to hear about something with normalcy and innocence.

After dinner, Elizaveta went home. Arthur promised to call her later, and he and Alfred offered to clean up.

Alfred washed the dishes and Arthur dried them. The sounds of running water and one of Mrs. Kirkland's BBC documentaries helped cover up their voices, which they tried to keep low despite the fact that no one was listening.

"Shit has hit the fan," Alfred said under his breath, rinsing a plate and handing it to Arthur.

"I know," said Arthur. "But the girl, Alfred. I wonder who the girl is. Was. Is?"

"Was," Alfred decided. "Because I really hope she quit gambling and lying to people after Louise died. I hope they all did."

"Kiku and Tino aren't involved in that stuff anymore," Arthur said. "They're not bad people, I don't think. Truly."

Alfred seemed to be considering those words. "I guess. I mean, we're not really in any position to judge other people—we're all literally just digging our own graves." He sighed. "You know, though, there aren't really that many choices for who it could be."

"Who were you thinking?"

"I don't know." Alfred grabbed the soap. "Natalia Arlovskaya? Michelle Mancham? Mei Xiao? That Belgium girl—your secret-keeper?"

"What about Elizaveta?"

Alfred's eyes widened. "Oh, dude, _no way. _You _don't _think that, do you?"

Arthur dried another plate, trying to seem nonchalant. "I just wanted to see how you'd react. You're right; I don't think it's her, either. I _know_ it isn't."

"Well, here's the catch." Alfred scrubbed furiously at a bowl, obviously growing upset. "Natalia was never at parties. I don't really know Michelle or Mei that well, but I'm sure you could ask Elizaveta about them. And Bella, or whatever her name is... I don't know. I just can't imagine anyone... you know."

"It doesn't even have to be someone in our grade," Arthur added. "Maybe we don't even know her."

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Mrs. Kirkland called, and Alfred and Arthur dropped their conversation, as the front door was right by the kitchen. They continued washing dishes as Arthur's mother answered the door.

"Oh, hello! Arthur and Alfred are here if you want to talk to them. But it's kind of late. Do your parents know where you are?"

Arthur and Alfred turned to the front door. Francis and Matthew were standing in the doorway.

"Yes, ma'am," Matthew said. "Sorry that it's so late."

"It's not a problem." Mrs. Kirkland invited them inside and went back into the living room. A few moments later, the four boys heard her documentary unpausing.

"Hi," Arthur said. "I don't particularly feel like you two would stroll in here at eight o'clock just to hang out, especially with what's been going on lately. So what's up?"

Francis sighed deeply.

"God," Arthur said. He could tell by his friend's sigh that there was a lot to be said. And Arthur and Alfred needed to tell them about the Gilbert-was-Jack discovery.

They finished the dishes quickly and sat down at the table.

"So," Alfred said. "It sounds like this is going to be one hell of talk."


	43. Saint Matthew Williams

_A/N: Many thanks to TypewritingFangirl for responding to my question! I'll be using the name Constantin for Moldova._

* * *

**December 21st**

Matthew pulled something out of his coat pocket and threw it down on the table.

"Oh my God," Alfred said, picking it up and turning it over in is hands. "This letter is from Gilbert, isn't it? You found your secret-keeper? How? Who?"

"That's a lot of questions," Matthew replied blankly. "Anyway, I just found him. It was Antonio."

"No. _Way_," Arthur gasped. "How'd you figure it out?"

"I didn't." Matthew looked pained. "Not exactly. He broke down and told me. He said it didn't seem fair to share my secret because I seemed like a _good person_." Matthew looked disgusted, and he grabbed the letter back. "I'm going to open it."

Arthur glanced at Francis, raising his eyebrows. Francis gave a lost little shrug, concern flickering in his blue eyes.

Matthew tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter, shielding it from the view of his friends. They understood, and politely averted their eyes. Arthur stood up to fix everyone some tea, and Alfred and Francis made small talk about random topics. Anything to distract them from the pain passing over Matthew's face—pain they were sure had shown on their own features when they had received their letters from Natalia and Lovino.

_Dear Matthew,_

_"This is the true measure of love: When we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will ever love in the same way after us." I remember having to dissect that quote in English when we were discussing Goethe, and I remember thinking of you. I remember being with you and feeling invincible. I remember being with you and feeling happy._

_I remember you smashing it to pieces._

Matthew let out a strangled cry of pain.

_Months upon months we spent together, laughing and talking and nearly kissing on several occasions. And at the end of it all_—_after I poured my heart out to you and told you my true feelings, everything you meant to me_—_do you remember what you said to me? Because I sure do. "I'm straight." What the hell, Birdie?_

Birdie. Matthew felt his heart aching. That had been Gilbert's pet name for him, after the time they'd been hanging out and a bird had landed on Matthew's outstretched hand. They'd both been so excited that they shouted loudly, instantly scaring the poor thing away, but it became Matthew's nickname.

_But I don't want to blame you for that. That isn't the point of this letter. I'm sure many people_ _(not you, though) __would look at what happened between us and think, "Oh, well, Gilbert killed himself because he got rejected, right?" No, no, that isn't true. I mean, getting rejected did not feel GOOD by any means, but it wasn't one of the reasons I decided to do what I did. When you said no to me_—_when you told me you were straight_—_I felt terrible, because I realized how abnormal and wrong I was. You made me think about what kind of things society would say if I did not get married to a nice girl, move into a beautiful house, and have a couple of kids. If you hadn't said no to me, I still would have had misgivings, but I don't think I would have truly realized with such awful certainty what a horrifying thing it is to be gay._

_Since you are straight, I am not sure if you're going to understand that. But I do. I guess what I'm trying to say is that your rejection opened my eyes. It made me study who I was and what kind of person I had become. And I hated what I saw. But I could never hate you, even though I know it's wrong to think about you the way I do._

_I wish you the best, Matthew. I still really like you._

_(ᶤ ᵗʰᶤᶰᵏ ᶤ ᵐᶤᵍʰᵗ ᵉᵛᵉᶰ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ)_

_-Gilbert Beilschmidt_

"Matthew. _Matthew._"

It took the Canadian a minute to realize Francis was calling his name, fear and worry tinging his voice. "Are you all right?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, I—no. He was wrong, Francis. He was so wrong."

"Wrong?" Arthur asked, setting a mug filled with Earl Grey Tea in front of Matthew. "What do you mean?"

"He absolutely hated himself," Matthew murmured. "For being gay. He shouldn't have." Matthew clenched his fists. "Why didn't he understand? Why didn't he realize that that wasn't his fault? It wasn't! He... he didn't _do _anything wrong!"

Alfred leaned his elbows on the table, rocking back and forth slightly. "Son of a gun. So he wasn't mad about you rejecting him?"

"Yeah," Matthew said. "Read it." He pushed the letter toward Alfred, and the American began reading.

"So, what's all this business about good people?" Francis asked.

Matthew stared at the wall. "It's just... everyone always acts like I'm this harmless little nice person who didn't actually do anything wrong. It's _my _fault Gilbert's dead. I should have just gone out with him, because maybe he'd be alive."

Alfred finished the letter and shook his head. "No, Matt, you can't think like that. You see, there were tons of things going on in Gilbert's life. It isn't anyone's singular fault, and it definitely isn't yours. I get how you think you're a terrible person. But you're not. Please listen to me."

Francis snapped his fingers. "Oh my God. The Love Crimes. I just figured it out."

Arthur grimaced. "The _what_?"

"The Love Crimes. It was in the letter Gilbert wrote for me," Francis said. "He said that the things Matthew, Alfred, and I did were called 'the Love Crimes.'"

"Go on," Alfred said.

"When did Gilbert ask you out?" Francis asked Matthew.

"Eh? At the beginning of this school year."

The Frenchman turned to Alfred. "And when did you tell Gilbert you were gay?"

"Oh, uh..." Alfred hesitated. "Just before tenth grade ended."

Francis drank a bit of tea and then began. "Here's how the Love Crimes happened, guys. It started with Alfred coming out to Gilbert. This confession forced Gilbert to examine his own preferences, and he was probably confused and upset. Over the summer, he and I—uh..." Francis waved a hand. "You know, the vodka incident must have made him look even deeper into his own love life. I'm sure he was crushed. And then after Matthew rejected him, that was probably the last straw."

Alfred stood up. "I'm going to bed. I'm feeling kind of sick again."

"Do you want me to get you medic—" Arthur began, but Alfred said, "No, I'm fine. Thanks. I'm just tired." He turned on his heel and went upstairs, calling out a good night to the rest of the Kirkland family, who were in the living room watching television and reading and knitting and doing a bunch of other solitary activities.

"I hate him," Matthew whispered.

"Who?" Francis asked.

"Gilbert." Matthew was trembling with rage. "I'm so upset. I don't get it. Just how did he not understand that there was nothing wrong with him?"

Francis rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's difficult for some people, Matthew. And like Alfred said, there were other things happening, too. Not just this."

Arthur stared at Francis and Matthew. He had been planning on telling them about Gilbert and the gambling, but he figured they had enough things to recover from at that particular moment. He watched Francis comforting Matthew, speaking quietly in French. As bad as Arthur felt about the facts he'd uncovered regarding Gilbert and Louise, he just had to take one look at Matthew's distraught face to feel lucky.

He didn't say anything.

* * *

**December 22nd**

To:

Francis Bonnefoy / Ivan Braginsky / Elizaveta Héderváry / Alfred Jones / Arthur Kirkland / Mathias Køhler / Matthew Williams

Subject: Meeting?

Hi, all! I was wondering if we could have a Confidants' Club meeting tomorrow at 12:00 (noon) at the regular Starbucks. Thanks.

(Mathias, we'll keep you informed.)

-Antonio Fernandez Carriedo


	44. Christmas Presents

_A/N: I apologize for not responding to every review I get anymore, but I DO read them all. I'd just like to thank you if you've been giving me support!_

* * *

**December 22nd**

_10:15 AM - Arthur Kirkland: Sorry, I was just wondering if you had Bella's number._

_10:23 AM - Elizaveta Héderváry: Yeah, here._

Arthur called the number Elizaveta sent him. Bella picked up quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Bella? It's Arthur. So, um, I was just wondering if... Gilbert left a letter for me, or something? In your possession?"

"A letter?" Bella sounded puzzled. "No, I don't think there was anything like that."

"Arthur!" Mrs. Kirkland called up the stairs. "We need to go to run some errands!"

"Okay, Mum! I'll be right down!" Arthur shouted, covering his phone with his hand. "All right," he said to Bella. "I have to go. Sorry to bother you. But, um, could you just check again?" Then he hung up, confused and concerned.

Why hadn't Gilbert left him a letter?

* * *

Alfred knocked on Francis' door, swinging his arms to keep warm. It looked like it was going to snow.

"One second!" Francis called, then appeared at the door a moment later. "Oh, hey, Alfred. Come inside. What's up? Did you get Antonio's email?"

"Yeah," Alfred said. "That meeting tomorrow is going to be rough. But anyway," he continued, trying to change the subject—he had _not _shown up at the Bonnefoys' to talk about Gilbert or the Confidants' Club—without being too obvious, "I came over because I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"All right. What is it?"

"I don't have a lot of spare money," Alfred said in a rush, "so I can't really buy the Kirklands nice Christmas presents. Besides, it's not like I could get them anything they don't already have, you feel? But I _want _to do something for them. So, uh, could you help me bake stuff for them?"

Francis grinned.

"What?" Alfred barked. "You don't have to, you know—"

"Oh my God," laughed Francis. "That is so adorable, Alfred. Of course I'll help! Now, let's see, what shall we make...?"

* * *

"Elizaveta, there's mail for you," Elizaveta's mother said. "I'm setting it on the kitchen table."

"Thanks," Elizaveta replied, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the envelope that was addressed to her. Her heart fell.

Gilbert's handwriting.

Vladimir had probably dropped the letter off sometime, but Elizaveta was still kind of confused—the whole secret-keeper discovery had been very unofficial—but she took the letter upstairs to her room and opened it.

_Hey, Elizaveta. I think this letter is going to be the most difficult one for me to write. Mainly because I can't decide how to talk to you here. Should I be informal and jokey, just the way our friendship was? Should I be serious? That doesn't seem appropriate, somehow. So I think I'll just write what I want to write. I hope you'll understand._

_I remember the first day I met you. God, what a long time ago it was! What, second grade? We were newcomers to a strange country neither of us had really heard much about. But we were newcomers together. A pair of scared and stupid and sarcastic seven-year-olds. Of course, you know as well as I do that our (truly wonderful) friendship had no grand betrayal, no confusing drama, no hush-hush secrets. (Well, not until now, at least.) I think the real deal breaker for you_—_for our friendship_—_was the day I discovered all that alcohol in your bathroom._

_Did the alcohol make me think less of you? No, absolutely not. Did it hurt my feelings or anything? Again, no._

_So you must be wondering: Why did it even matter? I drank. You drank. Everyone drank, right? I don't really think drinking is a bad thing. It's the things you do while you're drunk that can completely ruin things. I mean, look at Mr. Braginsky. Look at ME. I've done some pretty bad things, Elizaveta. I don't know if you've found out what these things are yet, if you're working with the others_—_but, if by some miracle, you all figure everything out, do try to piece it together, okay? For me._

_P.S. Visit Louise Canella's grave sometime, all right?_

_P.P.S. Remember that you're a bitch. A really awesome, strong, tough, kick-ass bitch. Best of luck, Liz._

_Your friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt_

Elizaveta stared at the note. _Piece it together? _What did that mean? Elizaveta grabbed a notebook and began jotting things down before her emotions could bubble up.

_Gilbert got rejected. He was gay and bullied. But that isn't a cause-effect statement. _

On and on. She wrote everything she knew. Everything the Confidants' Club had uncovered. And by the time she was done, she had a fairly good packet of information that would make even Lukas Bondevik raise an eyebrow.

She capped her pen, feeling empty after writing down so many people's little flaws and secrets and mistakes.

She'd definitely be bringing those notes to the meeting scheduled for the next day.

**December 23rd**

"Wow," Natalia said, not even bothering to act impressed.

"Well?" Lovino demanded. "What do you think? Don't tell me you think it's stupid! I spent _hours_—"

"No, no, it's nice," Natalia replied, gracing Lovino with one of her rare smiles. She looked at the present the Italian had made for Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. It was a drawing of some sort, and unlike Feliciano, Lovino was not the best artist. Natalia kept her mouth shut about that, though. "Still, you went through all this work to make him something for Christmas," the Belarusian said. "It seems like there's some sort of deep emotional attachment here."

Lovino narrowed his eyes. "If friendship counts as a 'deep emotional attachment,' then I suppose you're right."

Natalia tilted her head. "All right..."

Mrs. Arlovskaya entered the kitchen where the two teenagers were sitting and glanced at the drawing. "Oh, this is nice! Did you make this, Lovino?"

"Yes," Lovino mumbled.

"I like it," Mrs. Arlovskaya continued. "Is it an airplane?"

Lovino's eyes widened. "_E__h_?! I-it's a windmill..."

Mrs. Arlovskaya nodded. "Oh, of course. Anyway, Natalia, I'm running to the store. Anything you need?"

"No," Natalia said. Once her mother left, she turned to Lovino and started laughing. "An _airplane_? Ha-ha!"

"Agh!" Lovino buried his face in his hands. "This sucks ass! I need to make something else. But this took me a week! I don't have that kind of time anymore!"

Natalia giggled again. "Honestly, why don't you just go ahead and get him a bouquet of roses and an engagement ring? Jeez, Lovino, you're—"

"Please don't say things like that," Lovino said quietly, his voice unusually serious. Natalia stopped laughing immediately, startled and concerned.

"Lovino?" she prompted, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder.

He shrugged her off. "It's wrong," he muttered. "Fuck! Everyone knows Antonio likes Bella. And that's fine. They'd be a nice couple. Besides..." Lovino stared at Natalia with a cold, guarded expression in his eyes. "Like I said, it's really wrong to have a relationship between two guys." For some reason, Lovino could not get Francis Bonnefoy out of his head. Francis Bonnefoy and whatever he and Gilbert had done at Vladimir's summer party.

"I was joking," Natalia said cautiously, slightly alarmed. "I don't—"

Lovino grabbed his drawing off the counter and crumpled it into a ball.

"What are you doing?" Natalia exclaimed.

"It's ugly," Lovino snapped. "I know it is. And it's stupid anyway." He threw it into the trash can and started for the door.

Natalia stood up. "Where are you going? Are you making something else?"

"I'm going home. I changed my mind. I'm not getting Antonio anything for Christmas after all."


	45. Goodbye, Farewell

_A/N: The Confidants' Club has officially been up for more than a year. Thanks for all your support! And this chapter covers nearly everything that has happened so far, so I hope you're prepared for the crazy recap that's up ahead. I guess I've written a lot of over the course of the year!_

_I see I mislead some of you all. This isn't the last chapter! When we do reach that final chapter, you WILL know it is the end._

* * *

**December 23rd**

"Antonio, where are you going?"

"I'm meeting a few friends for coffee," Antonio replied. "Is that all right?"

His mother smiled. "Of course. Just be back in time to help me with dinner, okay?"

"I'll be back long before then." Antonio pulled on his shoes and was just about to walk out the door when the doorbell rang. He stepped forward and answered, wondering if maybe one of his parents had invited a friend over or something.

Instead, Natalia Arlovskaya stood in the doorway, holding something in her hand.

"Um... Natalia?" Antonio asked. He didn't know her that well—didn't know her at all, actually—and was surprised to see her at his house. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh." Natalia looked at him. "Were you about to go out?"

"Yeah." Antonio checked his watch and ran a hand through his hair. "It's all right. If it's something quick, I can help you now..."

"Here," said Natalia, handing Antonio the paper she was holding. It had obviously been crumpled into a ball, but someone had attempted to smooth it out. The paper depicted a strange structure—it was a really bad drawing—made of smeared graphite and shaky lines. "What's this?"

"Lovino made it," Natalia said. "Lovino made it for _you. _I know, I know. It's rough. But it's yours."

Antonio stared at the sketch. "This is... this is an airplane?"

"Windmill," Natalia corrected patiently.

"Well, thanks for brining it by, but I'm not quite sure I understand—"

"Do you think homosexuality is wrong?" Natalia interrupted.

Antonio's mind instantly went to Gilbert. "What? No! I mean, everyone has the right to be happy. Don't you think?"

Natalia sighed. "I thought you would say just as much. Would you mind explaining that to Lovino?"

"What?"

"You're busy. I can tell you have somewhere to be. I won't delay you any longer." Natalia turned and began picking her way down the icy driveway before turning around to look at Antonio.

Antonio met her deep blue eyes for just a moment before becoming flustered and looking back down at Lovino's drawing.

He had a very bad feeling in his stomach.

* * *

"Thanks so much for all coming," Antonio said, fixing his piercing green eyes on his six classmates. He was still a bit shaken up from Natalia's sudden appearance, Lovino's less-than-attractive drawing, and the strange comments Natalia had made, but he had a meeting to conduct.

"No problem," Francis said, smiling supportively. "Who would like to call or email Mathias after this?"

"I'll do it," Alfred volunteered.

Antonio cleared his throat. "Okay, so. I believe we've all found our secret-keepers."

Arthur looked perplexed. "What about you, Antonio?"

"I..." In his head, this was the part where he was supposed to launch into his I-don't-have-a-secret speech, but he found it difficult to say anything at all. Especially with six people staring at him expectantly. "There wasn't... I mean, I didn't have a secret-keeper," he mumbled lamely.

Elizaveta blew steam off her coffee. "Didn't have one? What do you mean?"

"Well..." Antonio took a deep breath. "I never had a secret. Or a secret-keeper."

"Then why are you even here?" Ivan demanded.

"Gilbert asked me to supervise you all," Antonio replied, trying not to panic as his friends' smiles began to drop away. "Listen. He left me a letter. In my bookshelf. I didn't find it until the Friday after the Confidants' Club formed. So I didn't... I mean..."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Alfred asked.

"Listen, I'm sorry—"

"So you just played along this entire time," Ivan said, "probably watching us and judging us as we showed our worst mistakes to you."

"What? No! It wasn't like that at all!" Antonio protested.

"Here," Elizaveta snapped, pulling out a notebook and slamming it down on the table. Everyone's coffee rattled. "Go ahead and fix whatever the hell is wrong with this."

Arthur was the first person to reach for the book, and he opened it cautiously. "It's a timeline," he said. "You've made a timeline."

"When I made it," she said, "I kept wondering what Antonio had done. But since nothing happened, I suppose it's complete. We've just got to put it in the right order. And don't feel shy about adding in anything I missed."

They ended up calling Mathias, who was in the middle of helping one of his relatives make dinner, to make sure all the details involving the Dane were correct. Thankfully, it was only about six in the evening over there, so Mathias was still awake. And he was definitely interested. Arthur phoned Lukas to ask the Norwegian a few questions. Everyone was surprised when Arthur and Elizaveta told the group about Gilbert and Jack and Jill. And by the time they were done, they had a complete timeline of the downhill spiral of Gilbert Beilschmidt's life.

* * *

_Before Eighth Grade: Louise Canella is cheated by Tino, Kiku, Gilbert, and another girl (whose identity is still unknown) throughout the course of several parties. She owes them $3,000. Why did this happen, though, because Gilbert supposedly had a crush on Louise?_

_Summer Before Ninth Grade: Louise throws herself in front of a bus. Probably a suicide. Arthur does not save her, and Gilbert is aware of this. Well aware._

_(Note: Somewhere around this time, Ivan and Gilbert began fighting regularly.)_

_(Does Gilbert realize he is gay yet?)_

_Ninth Grade: Elizaveta begins to sell alcoholic drinks._

_Tenth Grade: Alfred comes out to Gilbert._

_Summer Before Eleventh Grade: Vladimir Lupei's summer party. Anya is visiting the United States and is in attendance. She buys a bottle of vodka from Elizaveta and gives it to Ivan, who turns around and gives it to Gilbert. Gilbert and Francis drink way too much and end up partaking in some regrettable nighttime activities._

_Later: Gilbert and Mathias take their Germany-Denmark trip. Mathias discovers Gilbert struggles with depression. Gilbert finds out Mathias is bipolar._

_(Note: He found out Michelle was also depressed in tenth grade.)_

_Eleventh Grade: Gilbert asks Matthew out. Matthew declines. Gilbert is frustrated about his sexuality, depressed, feels guilty, has many regrets._

_November 7th: Gilbert kills himself._

Matthew read over the various handwritings and dates and little incidents, his heart aching. So this was it. So this was why.

Looking at the notebook, Matthew began to realize Alfred, Francis, and Arthur had been right. This had not been his fault. Not completely, of course. As the Canadian took in all the different names and coinciding events, he knew Gilbert's reason for ending things had been a lot more complicated than one simple rejection. And the rejection hadn't even been the problem—it was the reasoning behind the rejection that had hurt Gilbert so much.

By that time, it was a little after one, so everyone began to leave. Arthur and Alfred left together, Francis and Antonio walked back to the Carriedos', and the Starbucks cashier was glaring at Matthew, so he didn't think it was a good idea to loiter around for a whole lot longer.

"Matthew," Elizaveta said, slipping the notebook into her bag, "can I have a word with you?"

"Of course," he replied. "Though we should probably go outside before that cashier calls the cops on us."

Outside, the sky was dark and a light snow was falling. Christmas lights lit up the Starbucks and all the storefronts around, and the nearby residential area was also lit and cheerful. It was beautiful. For the first time in a long time, Matthew felt calm. Calm and happy.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while," Elizaveta said, blinking as snowflakes were caught in her eyelashes. "Two things, actually."

"What?" Matthew asked, not sure what to expect.

"I'm sorry. Thank you."

"Eh?" Matthew couldn't hide his puzzlement.

"I never properly apologized for my behavior at the Winter Soirée. Now, I still don't have my full memories of that night, but I know I was tremendously rude and mean and I made a whole lot of things difficult for you. I am very sorry."

Matthew smiled. He hadn't held that against Elizaveta—Matthew wasn't the type to hold things against anyone—but hearing Elizaveta's apology, especially the obvious sincerity in her voice, meant a lot. "I forgive you."

"Second"—there was a gleam in her eyes—"thank you."

"For what?" Again, Matthew was confused.

"Even though I completely lost my temper in front of the entire school, embarrassed you, and harmed your reputation, you still saved my life that same night. That same hour, in fact. I know..." Elizaveta's voice trembled, and Matthew knew she was thinking of Louise and Arthur. "I know not everyone could do that. Not everyone could push aside their anger like that. Thank you so much."

Matthew hugged Elizaveta. "You're welcome." He knew this was Elizaveta's goodbye. Of course, they'd still see each other at school, and with Elizaveta and Arthur's new... relationship, they'd probably run into each other outside of school, too. But there was no hiding the truth: they were not best friends. Didn't dislike each other, just were not close. Matthew and Elizaveta both knew mutual trust had been formed because of the Confidants' Club, but since everything involving Gilbert was winding down, they had no reason to speak to each other anymore.

"Bye," Matthew said, pulling away. Reconciliation was always a nice going-away present.

Elizaveta was smiling as she brushed some snow off Matthew's face in a very motherly way. "Bye." She began to walk toward her car, which was parked across the lot.

"Elizaveta?"

She stopped and glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

Matthew grinned. "This time, please take care while crossing the street."


	46. Family

_A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments!_

* * *

**December 24th**

"Hey, Iggy! Are you ready to go yet?"

"I'm here, I'm here. Calm down, you git." Arthur pulled on his coat—it had started snowing shortly after he'd left Starbucks the day before and it hadn't stopped, so the snow was really beginning to pile up—and joined the rest of his family. "Oh, um, is it all right if I said we'd meet Elizaveta there?"

"Elizaveta's _reeeally _pretty!" Peter shouted.

"Yeah," Allistor agreed. "How'd my son land someone like her?"

"Wow, my dear family is so bloody supportive," Arthur snapped.

Alfred laughed, hitting Arthur with a picnic basket. "Lovey-dovey loser."

"What's in the basket?" Arthur asked as everyone walked to the car. The Kirklands went to a Christmas Eve festival every year, the kind filled with little market stalls and a few stage performances and sometimes caroling, and Arthur had agreed to meet Elizaveta and her family there.

"It's a surprise," Alfred said, grinning. Arthur didn't know whether to be worried or downright terrified, but it didn't matter. Though he knew it sounded lame, he was happy just to spend time with his family and not worry about Gilbert anymore. Though Gilbert would have loved the Christmas festival they were going to... Arthur leaned his head against the car window while Peter, Kaelin, and Alfred sang loudly and (intentionally) badly along to Christmas songs—God, Alfred was such a _child_.

It was better, he decided, to stop worrying over things that were already gone and enjoy what he had left.

And looking at his family and one of his best friends, Arthur smiled. He had quite a lot left.

* * *

Antonio couldn't stop staring at Lovino's awful windmill drawing. He had it taped above his desk, but he still couldn't figure out why it was bothering him so much. Francis had been over after the Confidants' Club meeting yesterday and Antonio had shown it to his friend then, but all Francis had said was, "What _is _it?" No real help there.

Finally, Antonio gave up on trying to figure it out and dug out his school directory. He found the Arlovskayas' home phone number and called. No one answered, so Antonio left a message. He fell back onto his bed, staring up at his ceiling for a while.

Something hit him. Lately, Lovino had been acting sort of weirdly around him. Antonio assumed it was either (a) Lovino just being extraordinarily moody, (b) Lovino having a crush on Bella (which would explain his awkward behavior, because Antonio kind of liked Bella—which, like, _everyone_ knew), or (c) Lovino had finally snapped and murdered someone and was waiting for the police to arrest him.

Okay, so that last one wasn't realistic. Antonio sat up, remembering Natalia's commentary.

Maybe... was Lovino _gay_?

_No, _Antonio thought, _that's impossible. _Sure, Antonio had truly meant what he'd said to Natalia about everyone deserving to be happy, but Antonio knew how uncomfortable Lovino got around those kinds of people. There was just no way. And if Lovino _was _gay—though Antonio didn't mind the slightest either way—yikes. Yikes, yikes, yikes. This was one giant mess. Because Antonio and the Vargases just happened to attend the same Catholic church every Sunday, and... well, Antonio loved his church, but it wasn't the place to go spilling out all your secrets.

Antonio pulled out his phone, debating whether to call Lovino, when he had an idea.

He called Feliciano instead, crossing his fingers that the Italian wasn't doing a shift at the café. Or maybe the call would go to voicemail like it had with Natalia.

Luckily, neither happed. Feliciano answered. "Antonio?"

"Feli? Hi! I need a _huge _favor..."

* * *

Alfred was excited. He had all those sweets Francis had helped him bake tucked into his picnic basket, and he was ready to present them to the Kirklands.

There were a bunch of collapsible tables set up for the festival by an outdoor stage, and they managed to grab one of the best ones. Allistor got a beer from one of the booths, and all the kids sipped hot chocolates, rubbing their hands together to keep warm.

"We have about ten minutes before this Christmas play starts," Alice said, motioning at the stage. "Arthur, did you say that the Hédervárys were coming?"

"Yes, Mum," Arthur said. "They'll be here any minute."

There was a gap in the conversation.

"So," Alfred said, setting the basket on the table, "I have early presents for you all."

"Ooh!" squealed Kaelin. "Yay!"

"Oh, laddie," Allistor said, grinning. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Alfred replied. "You guys have been way more supportive and caring than my own parents, and I am extremely grateful." Alfred saw Mrs. Kirkland tearing up, and he smiled, pulling out all the treats. Francis had _really_ gotten into the baking spirit. Well, of course he had. He'd helped Alfred make cookies, pralines, macaroons, crêpes, so many things. And they all looked delicious.

"Oh my God," Peter screeched, grabbing a cookie and shoving it into his mouth. "It tastes like angels! Like heaven! I'm going to die happy!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and chuckled, but faced Alfred with a more serious expression. "You really didn't have to do this. Thank you."

"Really, Iggy?" Alfred exclaimed. "_I_ should be thanking _you_."

"Oh, Alfred," Alice said, wiping her teary eyes. "You don't have to thank us. Of course we're happy to help you. You're like our family. No, no. You _are _our family."

Alfred began to laugh, tears streaming down his face. Happy tears.

"Amen," Allistor cheered, raising his beer and grabbing a cupcake. "Merry Christmas, Kirkland family!"

Arthur, Alfred, Peter, and Kaelin held up their hot chocolates like champagne. "Merry Christmas!" they cried in unison, then burst out laughing.

* * *

Elizaveta located the Kirkland family quickly. They were being pretty loud, but loud in such a way that it wasn't disturbing anyone else. If anything, people seemed to be feeding off their holiday cheer and becoming happier, too.

The Hungarian brushed a few snowflakes out of her wavy brown hair and headed over to their table. Mr. Kirkland was drinking his (second) beer and chortling heartily; Alfred, Arthur, and Mrs. Kirkland looked happy and kind of emotional; and Kaelin and Peter—goodness! It looked like some kind of pastry bomb had gone off at their table, because it was covered in cookies and candies.

"Hey," Elizaveta said, brushing snow off an empty seat and sitting down.

Arthur blushed, wiping his face vigorously and smiling. No way. Had he been _crying_? It was a Christmas miracle.

"Sorry, Elizaveta," Mrs. Kirkland said. "We're a bit teary right now. What an emotional day!"

"Mum," Arthur sighed.

Elizaveta beamed. "Merry Christmas Eve. You all really went all-out with the holiday treats, huh?"

"I made them," Alfred said proudly. "Have something!"

"Where are your parents?" Mrs. Kirkland asked.

Elizaveta rolled her eyes, but she looked amused. "They got distracted at a bunch of stalls. Knowing my mother, we're going to go home with fifty useless keepsakes."

There was a short Christmas play on the stage, then everyone began wandering around to look at some stalls. Before Elizaveta knew it, nighttime was approaching. "Arthur," she said quietly, pulling him aside, "can I talk to you?"

Arthur pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. "Of course! What is it?"

She conjured up Gilbert's letter in her mind before making her request. "I want you to go to Louise Canella's grave with me tomorrow."

"W-what?" Arthur exclaimed, his breath making clouds in the chilly air.

"If you have plans, I understand," she said. "We can always go later, or I can go alone—"

"No!" Arthur interrupted. "I'll go with you. It'll just have to be in the middle of the day, not during my family dinner or anything."

"Okay, thanks," she said, assuming the conversation was over. But Arthur was staring intently at her. "Do I have dirt on my face or something?"

"No, not at all." He hesitated, a half-smile appearing on his lips. "Elizaveta, may I kiss you?"

_Of course he's asking, _Elizaveta thought fondly. _Such a gentleman. _She stepped forward and closed the gap between their lips, and their first kiss was snowflakes and crisp winter night air and Christmas caroling the background.

They broke apart, laughing and grinning.

"Merry Christmas," Arthur said, taking her hand.

"Merry Christmas," she responded, and they began to walk.


	47. Sins and Stories

_A/N: Okay, I'm trying to tie up most of the loose ends here and I'm really wrapping things up, so please let me know you have any burning questions before I come to a final conclusion._

* * *

**December 25th**

"You brought flowers," Arthur said.

"Yeah," Elizaveta said, stepping out of Arthur's car and grabbing her bouquet. "So did you. I guess we were on the same page." She took a deep breath, shrugging her shoulders to keep warm. "Okay. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," replied the Brit, locking his car. "Do you know where...?"

Elizaveta nodded hesitantly. "I've never been here before. But I called beforehand, and they told me where to find Louise's plot."

Arthur looked uncomfortable. "All right. Let's go."

"I'm sorry if you don't feel well. You didn't have to come," Elizaveta apologized, pushing open the gate of the cemetery. It definitely wasn't empty. Well, of course it wouldn't be empty on Christmas, since everyone was visiting their loved ones and bringing flowers and crying.

It took them a while to navigate the many rows of tombstones, but finally, Elizaveta directed them to the correct spot.

_Louise Canella_

"This is weird," Elizaveta said, setting down her flowers.

"Definitely," Arthur agreed, placing his bouquet next to hers. "Oh, hey, what's this?"

A plastic bag was taped to the marble gravestone.

"Maybe one of her family members left it—"

"Oh my God," Arthur gasped, pulling the bag off the headstone. "Elizaveta, look." The clear plastic bag contained was sealed, but inside it was a paper letter that said _For Arthur Kirkland._

"That's Gilbert's handwriting," Elizaveta gasped. "Oh my God, is that—?"

"I never got my letter," Arthur said, suddenly understanding. "I called Bella, because your secret-keeper is supposed to have your letter. She said she never got one. So this must've been where it was this entire time. He left it here for me." Sadness crossed Arthur's face. "But Gilbert knows I never come here. He knows I hate graveyards and such, so there was no guarantee I'd ever even find this."

"He told me to come here," Elizaveta blurted out. "That's why I asked you to come with me. Because Gilbert told me to." She sighed. "Now, are you going to open it?"

Arthur brushed a thin layer of snow off the bag, opening it. "Smart of him to put it in a plastic bag," Arthur said, his voice devoid of emotion. Elizaveta knew he was preparing himself. His hands trembled as he took out the letter.

_Dear Arthur Kirkland,_

_It's really been a while since we spoke. Since we truly spoke. I remember the last real conversation we had_—_do you? It was right before ninth grade started. It was a really short talk, but I said, "Why didn't you do anything?"_

_And you said, "I couldn't."_

_You're a liar._

_I saw you. You know I saw you. You could've stopped her. You could've saved her. Now, lots of people probably would compare her death to my death and try to turn it into some grand metaphor about how since you didn't save her, I didn't believe you would save me, but I'm not sure that's completely true. Maybe you could've helped me, but by the time I needed help, we were very far apart and it was cold between us and there was nothing worth saving. Not with us, at least. I know why we grew apart. Because after June 4th, looking at you made me sick. Looking at you made that horrendous moment freeze in my mind._

_Of course, if there's anything my life taught me, it's that people usually don't want to die for one reason alone. It's the combination of many things that makes their decision for them, so I am guilty as well. I gambled with her, and I shouldn't have. Nothing ever should have happened to her._

_And her death, though it was years ago, still weighs heavily in my mind. It was partly my fault. I am responsible, and that is painful. I am feeling the pain that responsibility can cause, and by doing this to you, I know I'm being a hypocrite._

_I'm sorry. I am truly very sorry._

_I hope you are, too._

_But there are things I need to tell you, Arthur. Lots of things. So start reading._

* * *

"Hey! Lovi!" Antonio cried, rushing over to his friend as soon as the Christmas service was over. "Merry Christmas!" He shoved a wrapped gift in the Italian's face, grinning.

Lovino's eyes widened. "What's this?" he demanded. "Stop waving it my face, stupid!"

"Open it!" Antonio said, barely able to contain his excitement. He had stopped by the Vargases' the night before, since Feliciano had agreed to help him make Lovino's present.

"All right, all right. Calm down," Lovino sighed, pulling off the wrapping.

His jaw dropped.

"Do you like it?" asked Antonio, clasping his hands together.

"I—" Lovino's voice shook, and tears were forming in his eyes.

"Aw, Lovi! What's the matter?" Antonio exclaimed. "Are you crying? I thought you would like—"

"Is this a joke?" Lovino roared, wiping tears off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He shoved the gift back into Antonio's arms. "I hate you!" he added over his shoulder before covering his mouth and rushing out of the sanctuary.

Antonio was dismayed. He looked down at what he'd given Lovino.

Feliciano had helped him draw a windmill, much like what Lovino had made for Antonio—except, of course, a lot better. Antonio sighed and headed out of the church, locating Lovino sitting on a bench a short distance away from a rarely used side exit of the building.

"Mind if I sit?" Antonio asked.

"Bastard," snapped Lovino.

Antonio sat anyway. "I'm sorry," he said. "I really don't know what I did. I... I just wanted to make something nice for you."

"Why?"

"Because you're my friend." Antonio quickly realized that was the wrong answer when Lovino's eyes filled with sorrow.

"Am I?" he asked, so quietly Antonio almost didn't hear him. The Spaniard was very concerned. Lovino was never this quiet, never this _sad_—Antonio just wanted Lovino to snap out of his strange state and spit out a few curse words, maybe throw a punch at Antonio, but... this was almost disturbing.

"Yes," he replied cautiously.

Lovino laughed—a bitter, broken laugh—and turned away from Antonio. "I... I see. I'm sorry. I'm going to go home now."

"Wait!" Antonio cried, grabbing Lovino's wrist. "Please—please, Lovino. I know you're upset about something, and maybe I'm just being very stupid, but I can't quite tell what's bothering you so much. I want to help you. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me what I can do."

The Italian turned his head and stared into Antonio's green eyes, tears dripping from his own. "I like you," he whispered. "I like you more... more than I should. I know it's wrong and I'm making a terrible mistake by telling you this, but... you stupid bastard! I can't keep being around you if it's going to be like this!"

_Shit, _Antonio thought. He was so alarmed and surprised that he let go of his friend's wrist. Lovino began to walk away, head down. Antonio knew that this was the part where he was supposed to run after Lovino, talk to him, maybe confess his returned love, and everything would go back to normal. But he couldn't.

Besides, Antonio knew perfectly well that if Lovino had a crush on a _girl, _even if the feelings were unreturned, the Italian wouldn't be feeling such a deep sense of anger and self-loathing.

He held the drawing to his chest and watched Lovino walk away.

He didn't know what to do.


	48. The Loose Ends

_A/N: I'm sorry if Gilbert's letter seems a bit scattered, but I tried to make it sound realistic_—_the point of view of someone who's broken and has nothing to lose._

_ALSO! Next chapter will, most likely, be the last chapter. Is there anything I may have forgotten to add before this all comes to a close?_

* * *

**December 25th**

Elizaveta's teary green eyes flickered over the note that was still clutched in Arthur's fists. "My goodness. Did he write you a novel?"

Arthur pressed his lips together and shook his head, finishing the first part that Gilbert had left him. The letter was pretty long—a few pages stapled together, filled with Gilbert's dense, neat handwriting—and it was clear Arthur would have to be the one to deal with it. "Should I read it now?" He was surprised his voice still worked. Elizaveta patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"It's up to you. I don't mind waiting. But if you'd rather read it by yourself or at home, I don't mind leaving now, either."

"Please stay with me," Arthur said. "I'm sorry to trouble you like this, but..."

"It's not troubling me at all," Elizaveta replied, twisting the ends of her hair anxiously. "Go ahead. I'll just wait over here if you need me."

Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak without crying, and turned the page of the letter.

_I have written letters to my family, to Alfred, Matthew, Ivan Braginsky, Francis, __Mathias Køhler, and __Elizaveta Héderváry, to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I've done everything that I need to do... except write yours. I've avoided this for quite some time, because I knew that once I did this one, there'd be no turning back._

_I know, you're probably confused: I just earlier said we weren't close anymore. Why not write the most elaborate letter to someone I still share a close friendship with?_

_Listen, it's midnight and I'm sitting at my desk, and I don't know why, but I can't stop looking out the window at the beautiful stars and I feel an ache in my chest that's telling me I'm about to cry. I don't understand why, because I don't care anymore. Maybe that's why I need to write this letter to you. Because you used to be my friend and we're still cordial, but we both know whenever we look at each other, all we really see is rain and breaking bones and all the terrible things that happened on June 4th._

_I want someone to tell me everything will be okay, but I know that's not true. Things started going wrong the day I lied to Louise Canella and won fifty dollars. Maybe before that. It's my fault and I'm responsible but I don't want any of this to be real._

_So I'll write this letter to you instead._

_In the other letters I wrote when I was thinking more clearly, I talked about working with the others. At this point, I don't care what you do. Well, I do. But just know that tomorrow, I'm making my rounds. I'm going to the cemetery and placing this note on Louise's grave. I'm going to visit Antonio and slip a letter into his bookshelf. And after I do those things, I know my decision has been made._

_That's all right, though. I know this is what I want. This is not the way things were supposed to go, but it's how they happened anyway._

_I'm only guessing here_—_mind you, I may be slightly wrong or completely wrong_—_but something's telling me that this is going to be the last letter that's going to be found. I have planned it out so that it happens that way, but as we all know, plans sometimes go horribly wrong. Still, I'm assuming this will be the last thing anyone ever reads in my handwriting. Those are my intentions, so I'm sorry._

_Another thing: If you ever received the first note I wrote for all eight of you, you know they (or most of them, it's a long story) have secret-keepers. And you know you had one. But I couldn't leave the letter with Bella. I wasn't sure whether you'd find her, and if you didn't, I still needed you to know all these things. So I left it at Louise's grave._

_Arthur, there are other people involved. There are gamblers and bad people and heartbreakers, but let's face it: We are all bad people._

_No, no, that's a lie. As much as I try to deny it, I know you are not a bad person. You are a human. We're all human._

_Please, don't worry too much about the other circumstances surrounding my death. I want you to remember what you know and what the others did, just to keep things from repeating, but please try to keep from dragging too many people into this. Be aware of how you treat others and how much of an impact you can have._

_Don't forget me.  
_

_Thank you, Arthur._

_Most sincerely, Gilbert Beilschmidt_

* * *

There was a knock on the Vargases' door. Lovino had already changed out of his church clothes and was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading a book, when he heard it. His father called "Could someone get that?" from downstairs, and a few moments later, Feliciano was opening up the door and greeting someone.

Lovino poked his head just out of the doorway of his bedroom to hear, since his room was the closest to the staircase.

"Hi, Feli," Antonio said. "Is Lovi here?"

_Antonio! _Lovino half wanted to slam the door to his room, but he shut it quietly, locked it, and continued reading his book. He heard Feliciano directing Antonio upstairs, that traitor bastard, and even when Antonio knocked on the door, Lovino did not answer.

"Lovino, please. Just talk to me," Antonio called, his voice muffled. Though Lovino couldn't see the Spaniard, he knew Antonio was probably pressing his cheek against the door like some idiotic five-year-old.

"Go away," Lovino snapped. "You should be spending Christmastime with your family."

There was a pause. "So should you," Antonio said. "Your family is all downstairs. Come on. Please."

Lovino snorted, blinking back tears. "Please, Antonio, I—"

"Let me in!"

"NO!" Lovino finally shouted, throwing his book to the ground. "GO AWAY!"

He flinched when his door was literally kicked open by Antonio. What an idiot! What kind of stupid bastard kicks open doors like life is one big soap opera?!

_"Dio mio!" _Lovino picked his book off the ground and hurled it at Antonio. "You stupid idiot!" It hit Antonio on the face, but Antonio just frowned, sadness eclipsing his usually cheery face, and picked it up. "You shouldn't treat your things like this."

"Why are you here?" Lovino demanded. "To reject me? Just go home!"

"It's okay," Antonio said. "Don't feel bad. No one's mad."

"What the fuck?" Lovino's eyes flashed with defiance and fury. "I haven't done anything that requires forgiveness—"

"Shut up!" Antonio snapped, rubbing his forehead. "Just shut up for one second!"

Lovino was surprised. Antonio never grew angry at him. He sank down onto the floor, leaning with his back against the bed, and looked up at Antonio. Antonio sighed and closed the door, sitting down in front of Lovino. "Listen. Listen to me, okay?"

"O-okay." Lovino shifted his weight, fidgeting with the tiny cross necklace around his neck.

"It's okay," repeated Antonio. "Like whoever you want to. It's okay. It's okay to have feelings for anyone. Please don't feel bad, because it's not something you should feel bad about, okay? You can't control it, no matter what anyone says. So just remember that. People love you anyway. So does God. Don't ever think a bad thought about yourself because of who you like."

Lovino looked startled. "I... I'm..."

"That's all." Antonio stood up, but before he could leave the room, Lovino grabbed his arm. "Antonio—"

Antonio turned, looking into Lovino's watery eyes. For some reason, the Italian was reminding him tremendously of Alfred Jones. "We'll get through this together, okay?"

Lovino nodded. "Okay."


	49. End Scene

_A/N: Well, after more than a year, a span of forty-nine chapters, and over seventy thousand words, I present to you the final chapter of The Confidants' Club. This is by far the longest story I have ever written, and I am beyond grateful for the support and kindness I've received while writing this. I hope you've enjoyed it, and that you can take something away from it. That said, thank you for sticking with me for this long!  
_

* * *

**January 5th  
**

The school year had resumed with full intensity. On the first day back of the new year, it was snowing—not too terribly, but enough to keep people inside—and everyone was still a bit out of it, but ready to take the year head-on.

"You headed to lunch?" Alfred asked, walking up beside Arthur as they shuffled from class, pushing their way through the mass of students gathering in the hallways.

Arthur looked down at his watch. "Actually... no. I was going to stop by Dr. Alfher's office."

"Dr. Alfher?" Alfred's voice rang with surprise. "Why?"

"Just... you and Francis wait for me at the usual table, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Alfred shrugged, still looking a bit concerned, but turned in the direction of the cafeteria. Arthur sighed in relief, thankful his friend wasn't asking too many questions. Actually, Arthur wasn't even sure _why _he was heading to that terrible counselor, but ever since he'd gone to Louise's grave with Elizaveta on Christmas, he wanted answers. Even if Gilbert hadn't been so willing to provide them.

It was stupid, really: Did Dr. Alfher really even know anything? Had all that bluffing during the fiasco in December just been... well, bluffing? And even if Dr. Alfher _did _know anything, would he even—? Arthur realized he was overthinking this way too much. He stood in front of Dr. Alfher's closed office door, his heart hammering, and knocked tentatively.

"Come in."

Arthur walked inside and closed the door quickly. "Um, hi."

Dr. Alfher looked surprised, but motioned at the chair on the other side of his desk. "Why don't you sit." It wasn't a question.

Arthur took the seat, tapping his foot nervously.

"So, what brings you here today?" Dr. Alfher set his pen in an empty mug and stared at Arthur expectantly.

"Well..." Arthur cleared his throat, wondering how to start the conversation. He knew Dr. Alfher didn't like him that much, and in case Arthur hadn't made it obvious, he wasn't really so fond of the counselor, either. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go on."

"I... I'm really sorry. I know this is inappropriate, but I was just wondering... are you Gilbert's uncle?"

More surprise crossed Dr. Alfher's face. "Yes. Where did you hear that?"

_I can't get Lukas involved. Not again. _"I was just wondering." Arthur waved it off. "I also..."

Alfher sighed. "Arthur, I don't mean to rush you, but I do have things to do. However"—the counselor sat back in his chair—"I have a feeling I know why you came here."

"Y-you do?" Arthur asked, eyes widening. "What do you mean?"

"I am not allowed to reveal too much, as when other students come to talk to me, I am required to keep that information confidential, but I can also sense that you seem to know a fair amount about Gilbert as well."

"We were friends..."

"In middle school," Dr. Alfher finished, clasping his hands on the desk and leaning forward with a sigh.

Arthur felt his heart ache. "Yeah," he finished lamely.

Pain flickered through Dr. Alfher's eyes, and his voice became tight. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I shouldn't have done what I did last semester."

Arthur was quiet for a minute before asking, "How did you even pick the people who were on the list?"

Dr. Alfher tightened his tie. "I assume I can trust you, correct?"

Arthur nodded quickly.

"The list was rather haphazard, I will give you that. I had to have Ludwig present, of course. And I had many of Gilbert's friends and old friends there, too."

"But... what about Louise? Why did you bring all that up again?"

Dr. Alfher took a sip of his drink—coffee? Tea?—and sighed. "It recently came to my attention that there seemed to be an issue involving gambling."

"Yeah. _Years _ago." Arthur realized what he'd just said and mentally kicked himself. Oh, God. _Why?_ Why had he just associated himself with Louise again?

But Dr. Alfher only nodded. "Yes, we know that now. And as I guessed, you seem to be educated about all these things that happened. At this point, really, we're just letting it slide. No, not _slide. _That makes it sound as if no one cares, and that isn't true. But we're... moving on, perhaps. One of them is gone, anyway."

_The girl. He's talking about the girl. _Arthur crossed his legs at the ankle. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"One of the gamblers. She's moved," Dr. Alfher replied. "Moved back to her home country a few years ago. And the others... they're good kids. What they did was wrong. Perhaps, if you know who they are, you can find it in your heart to forgive them."

"Yes," Arthur said. "I can."

"And why can you?" Dr. Alfher prompted.

Arthur hesitated. "Well, they're good people, like you said. Good people who did bad things. But I think many people are like that, actually. Maybe even all of us. We have good intentions and try to do what's right, but..." He pictured Ivan and Alfred fighting. Elizaveta distributing drinks to a party. Gilbert. Louise. Himself, even, standing on one edge of a foggy crosswalk. "Sometimes we make mistakes."

"And mistakes don't make you any less of a good person." The counselor readjusted his tie. "Listen, Arthur, if you don't have any pressing issues, I would like to get to lunch."

"Yes, sir," Arthur said, standing up. "Thanks for your time."

"One more thing." Dr. Alfher turned in his chair and reached for something in a drawer of his desk. He turned back around and set a small booklet on the table. "This is for you. Please excuse me now. Stay in here as long as you need to."

Arthur nodded, sitting back down to examine what had been left for him. He heard the door close as Dr. Alfher left.

It was a scrapbook. Arthur wondered briefly whether Dr. Alfher or some other member of the Confidants' Club or a classmate on Alfher's list or even Gilbert himself had made it, but then he decided that it didn't really matter and opened it.

It was painful, yes, but also kind of relieving in a way. So many pictures, so many years, so many precious memories. Eight-year-old Gilbert and Elizaveta standing on the Beilschmidts' front doorstep, smiling for the first day of third grade. A picture from seventh grade of Gilbert pointing at a cast on Arthur's arm (which he had broken going sledding with Alfred) and flashing a thumbs-up to the camera. Gilbert and Francis on Antonio's fourteenth birthday, eating frozen yogurt and laughing. Pictures of Gilbert and Mathias during their eleventh-grade Eurotrip, standing by the Brandenburg Gate and the Strøget shopping street.

Arthur sat there for what felt like a moment and an eternity, holding the book in his hands while his eyes welled up with tears.

The bell rang, and only then did he realize how long he had been sitting there.

_Dr. Alfher said this was for me. _Arthur held the scrapbook indecisively before placing it back on the counselor's desk. Arthur from a month ago probably would have taken it; would have held onto it and brooded over it. But that had already been done. Injustices had been revealed, grief had been spilled, time had passed. He would not forget this. He would never forget this. But it was an appropriate moment to move on, anyway. Alfred would be waiting for him; Francis would be asking where Arthur had been.

The Brit took a deep breath and glanced back before leaving Dr. Alfher's office. Gilbert's scrapbook was sitting on the desk, looking like any normal book or journal.

Arthur turned away and walked out of the office, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
